


Under Strange Stars

by Nyyrikki



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings in Notes, Alternate Universe, Angst, Deaf Character, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Happy Ending, I swear I will finish this, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Slow Build, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyyrikki/pseuds/Nyyrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abramsverse-AU answering <a href="http://ksarchive.com/modules/challenges/challenges.php?chalid=667">this challenge</a>.<br/>This is the story of an abused Jim Kirk, born deaf, who becomes homeless at age 16, ends up on Vulcan after trying to make it on his own, is taken in by Sarek and Amanda, and eventually begins a relationship with Spock. <br/>It is dark, and rated M for a reason (which is not 'lots of sexy times').</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 71

**Author's Note:**

> Skip the notes if you want.
> 
> I myself am not deaf or hard of hearing, but this challenge got me into doing a lot of research so I could make this fic plausible. Any deaf/HOH people reading this, I hope you point out anything you find unbelievable or just plain wrong. I’m looking to learn and understand, as I believe we all should. There are a couple of things I want to mention, however. 
> 
> For this fic, I tried to draw inspiration for the future technology from TOS episode ‘Is There in Truth No Beauty’. Dr. Jones’ cloak-thingy provided her extremely detailed perception of her surroundings, so I tried to think about how hearing aids might develop in the future. I know a cochlear implant is not a magical device that makes you suddenly hear perfectly, and that the transmitter and speech processor are removable. What I thought they would have 200 years in the future would be much more advanced in the sense that if the hearing implant was implanted at infancy and your brain learned to deal with sounds from the start, you would be able to hear nearly exactly like a hearing person. For the machinery you could see I thought they would have a tiny chip behind the ear and small, implanted microphones for each ear, maybe on the tragus. Surely by then these things would be waterproof, right?
> 
> Second, I only know a few words of ASL and just a tiny bit of Finnish sign language. I know signing doesn’t work like English when it comes to sentence structure and stuff, but for the sake of what is pleasant to read and for the fact that I know only little sign language myself, I’ve just written everything as if it were spoken. I’ve still tried to keep signing in mind when choosing words.

 

**Day 71**

Jim could feel the metal grid of the catwalk vibrating with the rhythm of a quick walk. The steps were determined, strong, and they were definitely heading his way. He could feel it from the way the vibration was growing stronger.

_Shit._

There was nowhere else he could hide, nowhere he could go without being seen. He knew he should’ve stayed in the Jefferies tube. No one would have found him there unless there was some emergency in engineering, and if there had been an emergency he would probably have been found no matter where he was. It was a good hiding place, a safe place where he was warm and reasonably comfortable. But he was just so _hungry_.

Jim had been aboard the USS _Enterprise_ for twelve days. It had been surprisingly easy to hack his way in. He had made it to Starbase 1 by forging his made-up name on a list of helping hands, which had not been hard since apparently every teenage boy on Earth wanted to help with wheeling cargo and equipment in and out of starships. On the Starbase he had hacked a terminal and given himself access to the next craft shipping out, again as a runner boy. Once on board the ship, which had happened to be the _Enterprise_ , he had simply hacked yet another console and made it look like he had left the ship, when in reality he slipped into a Jefferies tube down in engineering and hid. Really, you would think Starfleet would have better safeguards against internal hacking.

Jim had memorized the ship’s schematics on the Starbase in order to pick a hiding place where he would be least likely to be found. The tube he had chosen was not close to any often used shortcuts, it housed no critical systems and was unlikely to be of any interest to anyone outside routine maintenance, which had already been done at spacedock. The wiring made a sort of shelf-like bend about two meters up, and that was where he had climbed and curled up in. It was dim and the warmth of engineering made the air a bit stuffy, but it was a hell of a lot better than sleeping out in the streets, shaking with cold and being on edge all the time in the fear of someone sneaking up on him during the night.

The first two days after leaving dock had been hard. The engineering crew had been running about, making sure everything worked as it was supposed to. During the night between day two and day three he had finally taken the risk and left his hiding place. He had spied on the officer of the watch until the guy had gone to yell at some ensign, red-faced and stomping like a herd of buffalos, and then Jim had stolen his sandwich. He couldn’t risk it every night, but most days the sandwich he stole during gamma shift was the only food he got. The chief engineer was a scary lady and when she prowled around he always stayed tightly hidden in his nest. This meant that alfa shift was out of the question for exploring, and some days she would still be there halfway through beta. Eight nights in, during gamma shift, he almost ran into the secret poker game of a few lieutenants down in one of the Jefferies. It was dangerously close to his hiding place, and it was a miracle that none of them saw him, but in the end it was a stroke of luck that he did stumble upon their game. They all got called somewhere, he couldn’t hear them so he didn’t know where or why, but they abruptly abandoned their game and all the food they had smuggled down. There wasn’t that much left, mostly scraps and crumbs, but he stretched it to be enough for three days. It wasn’t, but it had to be.

He knew his food-stealing couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but he hadn’t expected security to start wandering around this soon. Someone must have caught a glimpse of him, or maybe he had accidentally set off an alarm, or maybe he hadn’t covered his hacking trails well enough. Either way, they had definitely started looking for something, and Jim was pretty sure it was him. He had stayed in his hiding place, hungry and tired and stiff from sitting and lying down all the time. Finally, during the gamma shift on the twelfth day, the hunger had grown to be too much. He had to risk getting caught.

Which was exactly what was going to happen in about twenty seconds.

Jim was sitting in the farthest corner of a maintenance catwalk, hiding behind tanks of coolant, leaning on the railing. He was largely invisible here, right until anyone came up the walkway and turned the corner to see behind the tanks. It was a dead end and there was nothing he could do. If he were not so weak and shaking with exhaustion, he could have tried climbing over the tanks and maybe into a vent or something, but as it stood, his flee from security had taken the last of his strength. This was it.

Shadows played across the metal grid of the catwalk and the walls of the tanks before a security officer emerged from around the corner, phaser in hand. Jim didn’t even try to speak. It had been such a long time since he had heard his own voice, and this was not the time to find out if it even worked anymore. The lieutenant yelled something over his shoulder, Jim couldn’t make out what since his head was turned and he couldn’t read the guy’s lips. The phaser was still pointed at him. He felt the catwalk vibrate from the impacts of running feet and lifted his hands up. There was no point in resisting, even if he had had the strength to do so. He was done.

 

••

 

Jim had been left sitting alone in a small conference room with a glass of water, which he had drank the second it had been set before him. He could have hacked the door and tried to make a run for it, but there was no doubt at least one guard outside. Besides, where would he go? Even if they still hadn’t found his nest in the Jefferies tube, they would know to look for him in engineering and there really wasn’t anywhere else he could hide. So Jim just sat and leaned his head on his hands, trying to battle the unconsciousness of sleep that was pulling on his eyelids.

The door slid open and a dark-haired man in command gold walked in. Jim took note of the captain’s stripes. He wasn’t old, perhaps in his thirties, and had piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through Jim. The Captain sat on the other side of the table and leaned back, crossing his arms. He studied Jim for a moment before starting to talk. He presumed the Captain was making introductions or asking him why he was aboard, or perhaps telling him how much trouble he was in. It was too fast for his tired brain to make sense of the lips. So when the speaking stopped, Jim simply signed ‘I can’t hear you, I’m deaf’ and hoped the Captain would either give him something to write with or bring out a communications officer who knew ASL. The latter was unlikely though, since modern hearing implants had made sign language an endangered language and few people knew it anymore.

Like he had suspected, the Captain merely called for a pair of padds. To his credit, the man didn’t look the slightest bit fazed by his silence. It wasn’t that Jim didn’t know how to speak, he would just rather not do it when he couldn’t hear himself. A padd was put on the table before him, already linked with the one handed to the Captain. Let the questions begin.

_\- I’m Captain Christopher Pike. Who are you?_

_Nobody._

_\- Do you not have a hearing implant?_

Jim didn’t bother to write down an answer; of course he had an implant. He simply turned his head and showed the captain the bumpy scar behind his ear where the tiny external processor had been ripped out. It had happened some time ago already, but he knew the scar tissue was probably still red and ugly. A doctor would have been able to heal it almost instantly, but they would also have reported him, so he had let it heal by itself.

_\- How did that happen?_

_Long story._

_\- What’s your name?_

Jim didn’t even touch the padd to answer the question. The Captain waited for a moment, but didn’t look surprised by his continuing refusal to answer.

_\- How old are you?_

_16_

_\- How did you get aboard this ship?_

_Hacked my way in._

_\- You have been on board since we left from the starbase?_

_Yes._

_\- Why are you here?_

_Needed to get away._

_\- Why? Are you on the run?_

_Sort of._

_\- Did you commit a crime?_

_No._

_\- Where were you hoping to go?_

_I don’t know. I thought maybe I could slip out at the next starbase or something._

Captain Pike looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before continuing.

_\- What’s your name?_

When Jim still wouldn’t answer he frowned slightly.

_\- Look son, I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t work with me. It’s not a hard question and we have other ways to find out. Your fingerprints have to be listed in some database._

Jim read and sighed. He knew he couldn’t avoid the truth forever.

_James._

_\- All right James, where are your parents?_

_Dead._

_\- You have no guardian or foster home?_

_No._

_\- What happened to your parents?_

_Starfleet happened._

Pike looked thoughtful again. Jim was surprised by the captain’s next question; he had expected to be asked more about his parents.

_\- You are obviously very smart if you could hack yourself into a starship. Why are you not in school?_

_Couldn’t go without the processor._

Captain Pike studied Jim for a moment with a serious frown on his face.

_\- Look, James. You are a minor supposedly on the run, illegally aboard a Starfleet vessel. We can cross-reference with missing persons and citizenship register, but you would do yourself a favour by just telling me who you are and why you’re here._

Captain Pike looked at him sternly, waiting for an answer. Jim knew Frank would never have filed a report on a missing person, he would be perfectly happy if Jim was rotting in a gutter, being eaten by rats. His school would have checked with Frank and he would have fed them some bullshit lie, so they wouldn’t miss him either. Jim hadn’t been to Winona’s funeral, so no one at Starfleet should know what he looked like. The only problem was that his fingerprints and maybe even an old picture were probably on record somewhere. He should have taken care of those.

Jim eyed the Captain. He had a kind face, crow’s feet already forming in the corners of his eyes. He really wasn’t the type to trust strangers, or anyone really, especially figures of authority. In his experience they just let him down and betrayed his trust. But the Captain would find out one way or another, and maybe Jim was just a little bit tired of hiding.

_I needed to get away, but no commercial ship would hire me._

Jim hesitated for a moment, but decided that it was time to spill the beans.

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk._

He could see on Captain Pike’s face the exact moment realization hit him. The light blue eyes studied him, no doubt comparing him with his father. Everyone did. Jim sighed again and waited patiently for Pike to collect himself.

_\- You have been missing for almost three months._

_Who filed a report?_

_\- I did._

Jim looked up at the Captain, genuinely surprised. He had never seen this man in his life. Why would he have filed a missing persons report on him?

_Why?_

_\- After Winona’s death I went to your house. I knew both of your parents and wanted to check on their boys, since neither of you was at the funeral. All I found was your stepfather, passed out in a pool of his own vomit._

Jim knew that sight well enough.

_Yeah, well, Sam hasn’t been around for years._

_\- I found him. He’s studying biology with a full scholarship._

_That’s nice._

_\- Why are you here, James?_

_I told you, I had to leave._

Pike frowned and looked at him with suspicion in his eyes. Jim was tired. His stomach hurt and he had to concentrate to not let his hands shake.

_Please don’t send me back. You won’t find me next time._

The Captain looked suddenly very serious.

_\- I will have to make a report. We’re a long way from Earth, but child services will probably want to talk to you. I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, son, but I’ll make sure you’ll be ok._

Jim highly doubted it.

_\- Now, I’ll show you to a room and we’ll get you something to eat. You can keep that padd for now so you can communicate with people when you need to._

Captain Pike stood and took a step toward the door, tucking his padd under his arm. ‘Come on’, Jim read from his lips. It took all his control to stand and walk without looking like his legs were going to give in any minute, which was what he felt like. Damn if he was going to look weak in front of these people.

 


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will go through one day or parts of one. Not every single day will have it's own chapter, and some chapters will be short. Chapters will not be in chronological order; we'll work from Day 1 toward Day 71 and from Day 71 onward at the same time. I don't yet know how long we'll keep going after catching the timelines up, but the stuff between Day 1 and Day 71 will be covered at a quicker pace than stuff after Day 71.
> 
> I'll put trigger warnings in each chapter's notes. In this chapter: abuse.

 

**Day 1**

“What farming accident were you in this time?”

The young doctor was just making finishing touches on his arm with the regenerator. She had mended his cuts and scrapes before, but he never came to her with anything that might look to her like evidence of abuse. The bruises and stuff mostly took care of themselves, anyway.

“I tripped while carrying something heavy into the barn.”

It wasn’t a lie. Technically. He _had_ been carrying a big and heavy toolbox after persuading the old motorcycle to run again. Technically, he _had_ tripped as well, but that only happened after Frank shoved him to make him move faster. His arm got twisted and crushed under the weight of the toolbox when he fell.

“There you go, kid.”

“Thanks, Doctor Patil.” Jim hopped down from the table, the arm with the newly set bone wrapped in that semi-flexible supportive gauze he hated so much. It made him look weak.

“Try to be more careful, Jim. I’ve had to put you back together a bit too many times this month.” She sat down in her chair and looked him straight in the eye, frowning slightly. There was something like suspicion in her warm brown eyes, and Jim didn’t like it. He knew he had had to get patched up much more frequently in the last couple of months, but he really had tried to deal with stuff himself as much as he could.

“I will, but you know how it is out on the fields” Jim shrugged, acting all nonchalant. He was fairly sure the sharp-eyed doctor wasn’t buying it.

“Sure” she said and waived her hand in a relaxed dismissal, but her concerned expression didn’t change. “Get to school then, I’ve kept you here long enough already.”

“Yeah. See ya, Doctor Patil.”

Jim walked out of the room and made his way out of the clinic, but he had no intention of going to school. Instead, he hopped on his rusty old bicycle and started down the dirt road that would take him back to Frank’s farm. He needed to get his stuff and go, he couldn’t take it anymore. Frank shouldn’t be home, he was usually at the pub this time of the day. He would pack a few clothes and steal some money and go to San Francisco. Someone at Starfleet would know his mom, and get a message to her. He just couldn’t live like this anymore.

The bumpy road made the bone in his arm vibrate uncomfortably, so he cycled one-handed down the road as fast as he could. He skidded to a halt in front of the porch, sending dirt and small rocks flying, and leapt the stairs up to the door two at a time. But his luck, if he had ever had such a thing in the first place, had run out; Frank was home.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he slurred from the couch when Jim barged in. Judging from the half empty bottle of unlabelled booze and the way he struggled to get up, Frank had gotten started right after Jim had left to the doctor.

“I live here” he replied cautiously.

Frank swayed toward him. “No you bloody don’t! Not anymore!”

“Fine!” Jim yelled at him, refusing to back down even as the drunken man closed in on him. “I hope mom divorces you and takes your piece of shit house and land and leaves you to rot in the gutter!”

Frank hit him, hard. Backhanded him across the face with such force that the world spun and blinked in and out of view and when his eyes could focus again, he was sprawled on the floor, cheek pressed against the splintery floorboards. For a moment everything around him was perfectly silent. This was nothing new; he had taken so many beatings that his implant would occasionally stop working for a moment. The sounds flooded in again just as he was getting up, supporting himself against the wall with his good hand.

“-don’t need to put up with your shit anymore! Get out, I don’t care where you go, just get off my property! She can’t do anything about it now, can she?” Frank was yelling, spit flying from his lips.

“Wait, what?” Jim managed, rubbing the tingling side of his head. What did he mean by that?

“She’s dead, you hear me? Dead!” Frank roared, not looking the least bit sorry. “Now get the hell out of my house!”

Jim tried to dodge, but Frank was surprisingly fast when he was angry, even when he was piss drunk. Strong fingers grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him out of the door. Frank threw him off the porch, ripping out half the hair he had held on to in the process. Jim’s feet lifted off the wooden planks, stumbling to find purchase and failing. He fell, rolled down the steps, trying to break the fall with his hands. He felt sharp pain the arm he had just gotten fixed, felt his cheek get cut open on the sharp edge of a broken board, and then everything went black.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he came to, he was still lying in the dirt in front of the porch. Frank was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Jim rolled on his back and groaned. He knew he did, but he couldn’t hear it. Jim’s head was pounding and his ears were ringing. He had to close his eyes against the burning light of the sun. He felt his body. Nothing seemed to be broken, but the newly mended arm was throbbing, badly. Jim forced his eyes open and pried himself into a sitting position. The motion made him want to throw up. He leaned his head down between his knees and took a few deep breaths. Blood dripped down the side of his face and down into the dirt, the small red droplets slowly sinking into the ground. He carefully touched his cheek. The cut stung when his fingers found it, but when he brought his hand down Jim saw that the blood there was already congealing. The ringing in his ears was slowly fading out, giving way to the nothingness of silence, and with dread Jim moved his hand back to his ear. His fingers came back covered in fresh blood, bright red and glistening in the sun.

_Fuck._

Jim glanced around. There was blood on the edge of the lowest step, but he couldn’t see the processor anywhere.

_Fucking fuck._

He couldn’t stay here. Jim scrambled to his feet and tried to think. What the hell would he do? He only had the clothes on his back and essentially no money in his wallet. He couldn’t hear anything, he was bleeding and hurting all over and he had literally no place he could go.

Jim’s eyes landed on the rusty old motorcycle he had been fixing that morning. It was a barely running piece of crap that hadn’t been taken care of, but at least it did run. He walked over. The keys were still in the ignition and there was gas in the tank. It was a bad idea on a hundred different levels, but it was his best option.

Jim kicked the bike off its foot and started the engine. He could feel the rumble in his chest. He had no helmet and no jacket, but he took off anyway. He would just have to hope he didn’t run into any cops, and that his flannel would be enough for the night. It was June already, the nights would be warm, right?

Right.

 


	3. Day 73

 

**Day 73**

Jim was aimlessly wandering the corridors of the _Enterprise_. Instead of locking him in the brig, Captain Pike had assigned him his own quarters. He was given food and Jim couldn’t even remember the last time he had been able to sleep this well, and in an actual bed. He had spent the entire previous day being probed and questioned, either by the ship’s chief medical officer or Captain Pike, both of whom had been in contact with police and child services. It had been determined that they would question him and send reports to Earth, since Jim wasn’t currently really capable of talking with them over the comm and meeting face to face was impossible. He much preferred it this way; Captain Pike seemed to be a decent guy.

Doctor Boyce wanted to give him a full physical, but Jim hadn’t allowed him to look _everywhere_ and they couldn’t force it. He had of course found all the injuries Jim had allowed to heal by themselves instead of going to the doctor, including the arm that had gotten battered the first day, all the cracked ribs (pre and post leaving Frank’s), a whole bunch of scars from cuts and, of course, the place where his hearing implant’s external processor used to be. Jim was very, _very_ glad that all his more suspicious bruises had long since healed. He didn’t want to answer questions about those.

Captain Pike questioned him about the day he had left the farm and the two and a half following months. It was a slow process. Jim didn’t want to tell him what he had been doing, and Pike didn’t want him to leave anything out. Eventually the Captain stopped pushing for every detail and Jim started telling him the truth. He embellished some of the least legal things a bit and left unmentioned his very lowest points, but in the end he told Pike almost everything. Even at the end of the day when the Captain finally accepted that Jim had told him everything he was going to for the official report, Pike still looked like he knew perfectly well that there was something Jim was keeping to himself.

Now, on his second day after being caught, Jim had been freed to look around. They had told him not to hack into anything or go anywhere meant only for crew, including engineering. Apparently they were still pretty pissed at him down there. At first he had just sat in his quarters, but thanks to having a few actual meals his strength had started coming back and eventually he had decided to go exploring.

Wherever he went, however, the crew gave him looks. Some were full of sympathy, some were curious, and some were plain annoyed. He liked none of them. The looks made him feel like he was being talked about, which he most likely was, and he didn’t like the idea that people were talking about him right next to him just because they could, because he couldn’t hear them. So, when he saw the plaque that said ‘Observation deck 3’, he immediately slipped inside in the hope of escaping the stares.

The observation deck was a small, dimly lit space with a small round table and some high-backed chairs, most pointing toward the large windows. At first he thought there was no one there, but as he made to sit in one of the chairs the one next to it turned and he was faced with a middle-aged woman. She had kind brown eyes and dark brown hair, and she was wearing civilian clothes in a style Jim didn’t recognize. He took a step back and was about to leave the woman alone, but she smiled up at him and gestured toward the chair he had originally planned to sit on.

‘No no,’ Jim read from her lips, ‘please, sit.’

Jim sat and raised his padd.

_I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m deaf and my hearing implant is broken._

She read and smiled warmly as she handed back the padd. It wasn’t a condescending smile, and there was no pity in her expression. Jim took the padd, and was surprised when she, having her hands free, signed at him.

‘Do you sign?’ she asked.

‘Yes’ Jim replied, a smile breaking out on his face. This was a much more natural way for him to talk than writing, and it was nice to have an actual conversation after such a long while. Talking via padd always seemed kind of fake to him. ‘Sorry I disturbed your peace here.’

‘Nonsense, it’s nice to have some company. I’m Amanda’ she introduced herself.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Jim’ he replied. ‘Not many people sign anymore. Are you deaf too?’

‘No, I used to be a teacher when I lived on Earth. I taught Spanish, French and ASL.’ There was a playful edge to her smile and a flicker in her eyes. ‘Never had many students for that last one.’

‘I can imagine’ Jim signed, grinning. ‘I probably wouldn’t know how to sign if my grandmother hadn’t been deaf as well.’

‘Do you mind my asking, did something happen or were you born deaf?’ Amanda looked politely interested. Jim appreciated the directness. He far preferred it when people asked if they wanted to know, instead of wondering about it and acting like he would start crying if they asked. He’d lived with this his whole life, it wasn’t a new thing he had to deal with like cancer or something.

‘Profoundly deaf since birth. I was born in space, really close to some weird anomaly, and they think that had something to do with it. It’s impossible to know if it’s true or if I would’ve been deaf anyway. That anomaly has so far never been detected again.’

Amanda nodded and was just about to reply, when she turned to look toward the door. Jim turned as well and saw that a tall, dignified looking Vulcan man had entered the observation deck. It was hard to tell, but Jim estimated him to be the Vulcan equivalent of middle aged by the slight greying of his hair and the few lines on his face. He looked very authoritative and stern, but then again, all Vulcans kind of did. Jim’s first instinct was to avoid the man, but Amanda smiled warmly and moved to greet him, so Jim stood as well. He hung back next to the window as the other two exchanged a few words and a two-fingered gesture. It looked intimate, like an embrace, and Jim got the feeling that they were a couple. He avoided looking at them, to give them some privacy, until they both turned his way.

‘This is my husband, Sarek’ Amanda signed.

Jim turned his eyes to the Vulcan, bowing his head slightly as a greeting. He knew how to behave, even if he had chosen not to for a large portion of his life. Sarek inclined his head to him in return, and Jim suspected that Amanda had already told her husband who he was.

‘He is an assistant to the Vulcan ambassador to Earth’ she continued when he turned back to her. ‘We are on our way to Vulcan, and the _Enterprise_ was kind enough to provide us with transportation.’

Jim doubted the crew had much say in who they were ordered to play ferry to and where, but he didn’t say anything.

‘My husband informed me that we are getting close to Vulcan. I’m afraid we must go pack our belongings, but perhaps we will see each other again before we get to our destination.’

‘It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip’ Jim signed and smiled. Amanda answered with a beaming smile of her own. Jim nodded again to the Vulcan man, who had been patiently waiting for them to finish talking, and was offered an open-palmed gesture, fingers split in the middle to form a V-shape. They turned and left the room, leaving him to slip back into the chair he had been sitting in.

Jim lifted his feet off the floor and curled up in his seat, staring at the stars streaking by. He wondered what was going to happen to him. For the past two and a half months he had been in control of his life. Admittedly, it hadn’t been much of a life, but at least he _had_ been in control. Now that had been taken away from him. His life, his future, had been put in the hands of some overweight, sweating social worker sitting on his ass back on Earth or some other official who had equally little understanding of what it was actually like to live the life he had done, instead of filing reports about it. Jim drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his hands around his legs, losing himself in thought.

Whether it was twenty minutes or three hours that passed, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t shaken back into the present until he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Captain Pike sat down in the chair next to his and gave him a scrutinizing look. After a moment he lifted his padd and typed something. Jim picked his up from the floor and read.

_\- I heard you met Mr. Sarek and Mrs. Grayson._

_I did._

There was a pause as they both stared out the window at the streaks of light that cut across the blackness of space. Jim found the sight soothing. It reminded him that he was moving forward, away from his past life and everything he had done, tried to do and left undone. For Pike though, it seemed to serve as an excuse to gather his thoughts and form them before continuing. Eventually he started typing again.

_\- I’ve been talking with the social services. We’re arriving on Vulcan in a couple of hours, and I’m going to escort you to the human embassy. They will find someone willing to foster you until the child services can send someone to assess your situation._

Jim read and nodded. He had nothing to say; he was on unfamiliar territory and at this point could only do what he was told. He didn’t like it, but he was smart enough to know that was how things stood.

_\- There aren’t many humans on Vulcan. There’s a school at the embassy for the kids of humans who live there, but I don’t know how much resources they have. You might even be put into a Vulcan school._

Again, Jim just nodded. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of being put into school with a bunch of emotionless geniuses, but if it came to that, he would deal.

_\- Anything you want to ask?_

Jim shook his head, feeling numb.

_\- All right then. You can stay here if you want to, or in your quarters, but I’ll come look for you once it’s time to go._

Jim nodded and Pike got up. The captain left the observation deck and Jim was once again left alone with his thoughts. It only seemed to take a moment before the ship already dropped out of warp and the red planet loomed before the observation window. The wait after that seemed to take much longer.

Eventually, Pike came back. This time Jim was expecting him, and when he saw movement in the corner of his eye he got up slowly and turned his back to the window.

‘Ready?’ Pike’s lips asked.

Jim followed him out of the room and through the mostly empty corridors. They got a few looks from crewmembers passing by, but no one bothered them. Jim had no possessions other than the clothes on his back, so they headed straight for the transporter room. A dull haze was settling in his brain, numbing out everything. Jim was familiar with the feeling but couldn’t bother to concentrate, to try and feel something. He barely registered it when a sparkling light embraced him and blinked him out of the clean, brightly lit transporter room and down on to the dusty red ground of the planet he had just watched rotate from orbit. Both suns were sinking down toward the horizon already.

Jim followed Pike up the steps of a fairly old looking building. There was a human woman at the door to greet them, but she seemed cold and aloof to him. She led Jim to a room, Pike trailing behind them. It was a bedroom, in the sense that there was a bed in a small room barely larger than a closet and nothing else. The woman spoke for a while and Jim didn’t even try to read her lips. When she finally made her way out he was left standing in the middle of the small room, looking out of the window. What finally brought Jim out of the fog of unfeeling was a strong hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from the touch, spinning around to see Captain Pike withdrawing his hand, looking startled. There was an awkward moment when neither of them made a move, Jim trying to erase from his face all traces of the terror he’d felt for a second there. Finally, Pike handed him a padd. It was a different padd from the one he had used to communicate on the ship. There was already a message from Pike on the screen.

_\- Here’s a padd for you to use for whatever you need. It already has my contact information on it, so don’t hesitate to reach out. You’ll have to stay here at the embassy tonight, but the ambassador’s secretary said they’re hoping to find you a foster home by tomorrow evening. I have to get back to the ship, but you know how to contact me if you need anything. Are you ok for now?_

Jim read the message and lifted his head to meet the pale blue eyes scrutinizing him. He nodded, both in answer to the question and as a ‘thank you’, and silently wondered if nodding was all he was going to do for the rest of his life.

 


	4. Day 3 to 4

 

**Day 3 to 4**

Jim was leaning on the bar of a truck stop just outside Salt Lake City, cradling a half-drunk cup of coffee, desperately trying not to nod off. It was 2:52 in the morning and he really, really needed to stay awake for a few more hours.

He had driven through the first night, barely controlling his shivers enough to stay on the road. Jim had sold the motorcycle to a roadside mechanic near Denver the next day and got a couple hundred credits for it. He hadn’t expected to get even that much, and he was almost out of gas so it was a good deal, considering his situation. The mechanic had eyed the dried, crusty blood on his neck and the bruises purpling his skin, but hadn’t asked anything. Jim didn’t really care if the guy thought he was a criminal, as long as he didn’t call the cops. By the way he had been more than willing to buy the bike Jim had no papers for, he didn’t think he had.

Jim had walked for an hour or so and finally, exhausted and barely staying on his feet, he’d jumped off the road and crawled into a thicket of trees to sleep. It was too cold to sleep during the night, but the early summer day was warm and he was fairly comfortable sleeping in the semi-shadow of the bushes. He had woken before sundown and walked through the night, trying to hitch a ride from the few cars passing by during the night. He had passed a gas station and washed away the dried blood. There was much more of it than he’d thought; no wonder no one had let him hitch a ride. Jim had bought some food and he’d crawled into another patch of woods around midday the third day to escape the sun and slept for a few hours before setting off again. An old farmer passing by had given him a lift to this truck stop earlier that evening, telling him that he could catch a bus to Sacramento from the bus stop by the road in the morning. Jim didn’t want to use his credits for an expensive shuttle ride from Salt Lake City, so here he sat, waiting for the bus.

It was easier said than done.

Despite having slept during the day for a couple of days now, his body wasn’t used to being awake this time of night. It had been easier keeping the weariness at bay when he had walked through the night, but now that he was sitting inside in the warm, leaning on a stable surface, the challenge was much greater. The reality of his mother’s death had started sinking in as well. Winona hadn’t been around enough for Jim to feel like he had lost his _mother_ , but the loss was still there. It was an empty feeling in his chest, a hollow realization that he was now completely, utterly alone. That he would never have the chance to build a better relationship with the woman who’d given birth to him, the woman who couldn’t stand to watch him because he looked too much like his father, the woman who had been his only living relative except for a brother he hadn’t seen in years.

Jim sipped his coffee. The young man working the night shift vanished in the back room with a tray full of dirty coffee cups, leaving him alone save for a truck driver sitting in a corner booth. The guy was middle-aged and looked like he lived out of his truck. He had been making eyes at Jim all night, which he had firmly ignored. Now, however, he watched from the corner of his eye as the man got up and walked across the room, stopping to lean on the counter right next to Jim. He didn’t even wait for the guy to open his mouth.

“Not interested” Jim told him and turned back to his coffee, hoping he had sounded repelling enough.

Apparently he hadn’t, since the guy just leaned closer and started talking, his foul smelling breath puffing against his face. Jim actually sucked at reading lips; standard was a hard language to lip-read and he hadn’t had to do it for most of his life, so he hadn’t gotten that much practise either. In this case, however, he was pretty sure he knew what the dude wanted.

“I said I’m not interested” Jim interrupted, leaning away from him.

A pot full of coffee was slammed on the bar between them, hot liquid splashing on the counter. The waiter had come back from the back room and was now, judging by the angry look on his face, yelling at the truck driver. He pointed at the door. ‘Out,’ Jim read from his lips. The guy who had been harassing him looked angry as well, and for a moment Jim thought he was going to hit the younger man, but then he turned and stormed off. Jim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the door swung shut behind him.

“Thanks” he said, rubbing his face with his palms. When he looked up the waiter was wiping down the counter, looking at Jim expectantly.

“Sorry,” Jim said, thinking the guy had probably asked something and was now waiting for an answer. “I can’t hear you. I’m deaf.”

This was the reason Jim didn’t like to talk during the times he couldn’t hear absolutely anything. Most people didn’t realize that just because he talked, it didn’t mean he could magically hear them, even if he said he was deaf. The waiter, however, fished out a pen and pad and wrote down something before pushing the paper in front of Jim.

_\- Are you ok?_

_Yeah, thanks for the help._

The guy poured him more coffee. He was tall and fairly muscular, with tattooed arms and long brown hair tied to a low ponytail. Jim thought he looked a bit intimidating, even if he looked like he couldn’t be much older than 20, but it was probably a good thing if you worked the night shift in a place like this. Jim took a sip from his freshly filled cup while the guy reached for the pen again.

_\- I’m Tony._

_Jim._

_\- You don’t look like a rental._

_I’m not. I’m just waiting for the bus._

_\- Where are you headed?_

_Sacramento._

Tony gave him a searching look, eyes clearly stopping at his bruised and scarring cheek. There was something in his green eyes that made Jim feel like he knew only from looking at him exactly the situation Jim was in.

_\- You need a place to crash? Morning shift comes in at 6 and you look like you could use a bed and a shower._

Jim’s mood brightened for a second with the thought of a shower, but it was quickly chased back down by all the reasons why accepting the offer was a bad idea.

_Why would you do that for me?_

_\- Because I’ve needed helping hands along the way and I believe in paying it forward._

There was sincerity in his expression. It didn’t entirely get rid of Jim’s apprehension toward trusting the guy, but surely one night would be fine. Just one night.

 

••

 

Jim woke from the floor late in the afternoon. Tony’s place had turned out to be a run down but weathertight house he shared with three housemates. It was within walking distance of the truck stop, there was a shower as promised, and Tony had put a mattress down for Jim in his room. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the older man was sitting on his bed, drinking coffee and reading something on a battered old padd. The green eyes flicked to him when sat up.

‘Morning,’ Jim saw him say.

“Morning” he replied.

Tony swiped at his padd and typed for a moment before handing the device to Jim.

_\- I don’t mind if you want to stay for a few days, but we’re gonna have to go get something to eat. I can show you to the bus station too, if you want to get going._

Jim offered Tony a cautious smile.

_I wouldn’t mind eating something._

They headed out and started walking. There was a corner café of questionable cleaning standards on the way where they picked up sandwiches, and then they sat down on a bench, eating and talking – with the help of Tony’s padd - about things of no particular importance, or perhaps things of absolutely vital importance, like classic cars and rock.

Tony didn’t ask where he had come from or why he looked like he had wrestled with a bear, and Jim didn’t ask about his story. He was a smart and laid back guy, the kind you know is hiding some serious damage behind their tough exterior, a description that - Jim had to admit - fit himself a little too well as well. He knew by his house and neighbourhood that Tony was not the kind of guy a mother would approve of you hanging out with, but Jim was homeless, he had no mother to disapprove of the company, he had no idea what to do with his life, and there was such an air of unquestioning acceptance about the man that Jim managed to silence the responsible part of his brain with barely any effort at all.

His resolve on getting to California as quickly as he could finally crumbled when, on their walk back toward the house, Tony pointed out a piece of paper taped on the wall of a rather shady looking mechanic’s shop:

_HIRING. We pay in cash._

 


	5. Day 74

 

**Day 74**

Vulcan stars were completely different from Earth’s.

Jim was sitting on the roof of the human embassy, hiding from the embassy staff. He had expected the emotionless air around the Vulcans, but the humans were, somehow, even worse. The Vulcan way of being had rubbed off on everyone here, and even if they weren’t quite as blank as the natives, to Jim they seemed just so cold. No one reacted like he expected them to, and it was eerie to see so little emotion where he subconsciously expected to find it. Jim knew they weren’t emotionless, that they had just adapted to the local culture to stand out less, but it was certainly something he would have to get used to.

Various members of the embassy staff had been cornering him all day, asking questions and telling him how hard it was to find a Vulcan family willing to put up with him, because none of the very few human families living here wanted him. Jim had been looking for escape the entire day. It wasn’t his fault if no one wanted him, and he really didn’t want to constantly hear about it. Finally, when the suns were setting again, he had slipped away from them and taken the maintenance staircase to the roof. He didn’t know how long exactly he had been sitting here, in the middle of the dusty rooftop, but the last light had long since given way to the dark night sky, dotted with unfamiliar patterns of stars.

A thin stripe of light emerged on the roof next to Jim and quickly widened into a rectangular column, telling him that someone had opened the door to the stairwell behind him. He shifted to look over his shoulder and saw a young Vulcan man standing in the doorway, looking indecisive about whether he should proceed or not. Jim waved his hand, inviting him to come out if he wanted to.

The young Vulcan seemed to hesitate for a second before stepping out and closing the door. He walked up to Jim, but remained standing by his side. Jim patted the roof next to him. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow but sat nonetheless. He said something and Jim automatically reached for his padd before remembering that he’d left it on his bed as an excuse to not be bothered. Quickly going through his options he settled on merely looking at the guy and tapping his ear, hoping he understood.

The Vulcan blinked once and then took out a communicator. His fingers danced on the buttons for a moment before he handed the small device to Jim.

_\- I apologize if I have intruded on your privacy, but I was unaware that anyone would be up here at this time._

_Don’t worry about it, you’re not intruding._

_\- I am gratified. My name is Spock._

Jim smiled and rolled the name out on his tongue. It was a nice, tactile name that snapped in his mouth. He must have whispered the name out loud, because Spock glanced at his lips and gave him a look, something in his black eyes that Jim couldn’t name. Like curiosity, but there was something more there as well.

_Nice to meet you, Spock. I’m Jim._

_\- If I may ask, why are you sitting on the roof of the human embassy?_

_I’ve been at the embassy the entire day and I just wanted to be alone for a moment. What about you?_

_\- I was expecting to meet my parents this evening, but they have been held in a meeting. I prefer the solitude to the crowd inside while I wait for them._

Jim grinned. He hadn’t met many Vulcans yet, but this one seemed somehow easier to be around with. He didn’t seem as indifferent and emotionless, even if Jim couldn’t exactly pinpoint any actual emotionality in his behaviour.

_Well, now we can be alone together._

Spock gave him an incredulous look, one eyebrow raised up nearly to his bangs.

_\- Illogical._

Jim huffed out a laugh through his nose and leaned back to lie down on the roof, no doubt getting dust all over his clothes. Spock glanced at him stretched out on his back but remained sitting cross legged next to him. The Vulcan turned to look over the streets and rooftops. The human embassy was in the old part of the city, where the buildings were mostly only a few storeys high and made out of sandstone, the bricks a thousand different shades of red, orange and brown.  Further away you could see the glimmering lights of some of the newer buildings, tall structures with strange, gravity-defying jetties that didn’t seem to fit with the scenery in the slightest. Personally, Jim preferred the old architecture to the new, but he could see the logic behind building efficiently instead of aesthetically.

Jim turned his head away from the city and his knew, silent companion with his perfect posture and looked up at the stars again. They twinkled down at him, flashing white and blinking with all the colours of a prism. He spotted the twinkle of a satellite, moving slowly across the sky. _Cycling aliens_ , he remembered a childhood friend calling them once. The irony of the memory was not lost on him; he was the alien now, hiding up on a rooftop, down on a planet he hadn’t planned getting stranded on. Instead of making him homesick, however, the thought filled him with hope. He had escaped, the strange stars were a proof of that. He had escaped and he had no intention of going back. He was alive, and for the first time in a long time, he _felt_ alive.

The gentlest of touches on his shoulder brought Jim back to the present. Spock was turned his way, looking at him impassively. There was something in his dark eyes, though, something that filled Jim’s insides with warmth he couldn’t pinpoint the source of. He pushed himself off the dusty rooftop and accepted the communicator Spock was holding out.

_\- I have received notification that my parents have finished with their meeting and I must now depart. I trust you shall not be negatively affected by my departure?_

Jim smiled at the Vulcan’s consideration over the illogical human’s feelings.

_I’ll be fine. It was nice meeting you, Spock. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday._

_\- It is a possibility._

Spock rose from his cross legged position as gracefully as a dancer, lightly dusting his clothes before walking across the roof. Jim fell back down on his back and watched as the now upside-down Vulcan opened the door, allowing light to spill out, and vanished inside. Jim turned his gaze back up to the stars, allowing himself a moment of quiet contentment over the weird little moment of companionship with the young Vulcan. Maybe he wouldn’t be completely out of place on this planet after all.

Judging that it was probably quite late already and that he should go back inside before people started getting worried, Jim rolled up from his back and stood up. He tried to brush off some of the red dust clinging to his clothes before following after Spock and going back inside. He took the stairs down, unhurriedly, and walked through the empty corridors until he again found the way to his closet of a bedroom. Walking down the corridor he was accosted by the same woman who had shown him to the room the night before. She had clearly been looking for him with a specific purpose, because as soon as she found him she shoved a piece of paper at him.

_We have managed to find a family willing to house you. They have been in contact with child services on Earth and have been approved to foster you for the time being. You will meet them in the morning. They should be here by 10 o’clock._

The woman didn’t wait for him to finish reading, but marched off as soon as she appeared. Jim read and slipped inside his dark room, collapsing on the bed. The corner of his padd poked him in the side, and when Jim lifted the device he saw that the small light was blinking. There was a message from captain Pike.

_Jim,_

_I asked to be kept informed of your situation, I hope you don’t mind. I just got word that they had found someone to foster you. Keep me in the loop on how it’s going, once you’ve met them. Vulcans can be challenging in their own way._

_Don’t be a stranger, son._

_Pike_

 

Jim put the padd down on the floor and lay back down, staring up at the dark ceiling. A hundred questions raced through his mind, followed by a hundred scenarios of things that could go wrong in the morning. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the thoughts, but whatever he tried to fill his mind with, the doubts always found a way to worm themselves in. _What if they don’t like me after all? What if I’m too human? What if I’m not smart enough, good enough, what if they just change their mind for no reason at all?_

Jim pressed his eyes with his palms until stars and swirling patterns filled the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'cycling aliens' thing is something a childhood friend of mine used to say. I didn't get it back then.


	6. Day 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, when I first wrote Tony I kind of liked him way, way too much, so I had to go back and make him a bit less lovable before I introduced him to the story. I let him keep his looks but his personality went through some changes.
> 
> Warning: Dubious consent

 

**Day 9**

Jim came back from his very legal job at the perfectly legal garage that had only strictly legal business happening in the back room to a by now familiar sight.

Tony’s housemates were all lying around the living room, sprawled on the couch and chairs, three sheets to the wind and as unresponsive as comatose jellyfish. Jim ignored them and went into Tony’s room, expecting him to be at work. Instead, what he found was Tony, lying shirtless on his bed, long hair spread around him in wild tangles, unfocused eyes finding him the second Jim walked in. He wasn’t usually getting high with the other guys, but apparently it was his day off.

“Hey” Jim said and went to sit on his mattress. Tony waved his hand in a sloppy arch, eyes following him across the room. It was good to see that his friend wasn’t as far gone as the others. Tony’s house mates were nice enough, but he was pretty sure at least one of them was a drug dealer.

Jim kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket after them. With the money he’d started earning from working, he’d been able to buy some more clothes and a backpack to keep them in from a flea market. He was just about to peel off his shirt when he saw from the corner of his eye as Tony rolled off the bed. Jim half-turned to watch his friend slowly crawl on all fours across the floor toward him, stopping to sit back right in front of him.

“Tony?” Jim hoped his voice didn’t betray too much of the maelstrom of emotion and uncertainty running through him. He’d seen the older guy look at him sometimes when he changed clothes, but it was always just quick glances, the kind that seemed perfectly innocent to Jim.

This was not a quick glance.

Tony’s grey-green eyes were staring him down, examining his face. After a moment that felt like eternity, he reached out and pushed Jim by the shoulders down on the mattress. It was a gentle but firm action, one that got his heart racing. Tony climbed on top of him, leaning down, one leg pushing between his thighs. Jim could feel the scratch of stubble against his cheek, the faintest touch of lips tracing down the curve of his ear. He tried to swallow past the roughness in his throat, feeling his body’s involuntary response to the touches.

“Tony?”

A puff of air blew against his neck. It might have been a simple exhale, it might have been a ‘shh’. Callused fingers found their way under the hem of his shirt, trailing up his side. Jim’s breath shuddered and caught in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lips found his own, claiming his mouth in a tentative but decisive kiss. Jim ran his hands up Tony’s strong arms, fingers curling around his biceps, intending to push him away despite his lips’ decision to participate in the kiss instead of rejecting it. Before he could carry out his intention, however, Tony ground his hips down on his. Jim gasped at the sensation of his hard shaft pressing against his own, rapidly hardening penis. Tony used the opportunity to slip his tongue in Jim’s mouth, all tentativeness giving way to passionate exploration. Jim’s shirt was now bunched up in his armpits and Tony broke the kiss to peel it off, attacking the newly exposed skin. His thumb ran over one of his nipples, teeth grazing the skin at the juncture of his neck, hips grinding down again, making Jim writhe and gasp. He reached out to explore the tattooed torso above him, hips buckling up on their own accord. Jim’s brain was a mess of incoherent thoughts, incapable of taking control of his body, merely registering the fumbling movements of belts being unbuckled, the slight scratch of frantically pushed down jeans and underwear. His world was a chaos of lips and teeth and skin on skin, of groping hands and buckling hips, of pants of air and tangles of hair against his skin, their hardnesses sliding against each other in a violent battle until the pleasure washed over him, dragging him into a confused oblivion.

 


	7. Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go again.

 

**Day 13**

“Tony?”

Jim had just come back from the garage and was now lying on Tony’s bed, head on the other man’s lap. Callused fingers were absently playing with his hair. Jim’s head was swimming from the bitter, blueish grey smoke of whatever it was Tony was smoking. It was his night off again. Tony’s abs twitched and Jim imagined he could almost hear the ‘hm?’

Almost.

Tony handed him the scratchy old padd. Jim eyed his backpack for a moment before typing. He had taken to keeping his few possessions packed in it all the time and taking them wherever he went, in case he didn’t come back anymore. His last trip to the doctor had proven to him that things didn’t always go like you planned. He handed the padd back to Tony.

_I think I need to keep moving._

Tony’s fingers left his hair and soon the padd was set in his hands again.

_\- Yeah. I know._

The fingers wove into his hair again, continuing their patternless play among the unruly strands. Jim set the padd down on the bed and allowed his eyes to slip shut, enjoying the gentle touch. Jim knew this wasn’t where he was meant to be, that this run down house, these people, nice though they were, were not truly a part of _his_ life. They were borrowed from someone else, someone who fit in this setting. If he stayed he would end up even more broken than he already was. It might still happen if he left, but he had to take that chance, had to try to fix it. But for now, he allowed himself a moment of peace and safety, a moment to feel accepted as he was.

His mind was hovering just on the edge of consciousness, about to fall asleep, when Tony suddenly jumped off the bed, almost making Jim fall off as well. He could immediately tell that something was wrong. Tony rushed to the window, opening it wide and throwing his joint out. He swirled around and saw Jim scrambling up, pulling his shoes on.

‘Go’ his lips formed as he waved toward the window, face filled with urgency. ‘Run’

Jim scooped up his backpack and leapt out the window without second thought, setting off at a fast run the second his feet hit the ground. He glanced around as he ran, seeing police flitters outside the house. What the hell was happening? When he reached the edge of a thicket of trees he turned around to see if Tony was coming behind him. Jim could see him through the window, still in his room, just as a cop pushed him against a wall to cuff him. Tony was looking out the window, at him, with a pleading look on his face.

Jim swirled around and ran, ran as fast as he could through the trees, twigs and leaves scraping against his face, until he emerged at the side of a field of yellow hay. He ran until his lungs burned, until his muscles ached, until every rock he stepped on felt like a knife stabbing through the sole of his foot. Only then did he slow down and stumble off the road and down into the gutter, crawling into an old rainwater pipe under the road and collapsing to the slightly damp floor of the huge tube.

Jim closed his eyes against the darkness of the night, trying to get his breath to even out. He could feel a single hot tear escape the corner of his eye and roll down the side of his face. He wasn’t in love with Tony, he wasn’t even sure what the hell it was they had been doing. He knew Tony wasn’t in love with him either. He knew Tony had known from the start that he wouldn’t stay forever, and Jim had been mentally preparing to leave any day now.

He had just not thought he would have to leave running again, all other options taken from him.

 


	8. Day 75

 

**Day 75**

Jim was sitting on the bed in his closet, leaning against the wall and staring at the door. He had hardly slept at all and as a result his eyes were aching and head thrumming. There was a cold fist twisting his gut, numbing and heightening all sensation at the same time, like he was waiting for his execution. He wondered how many days it would be until he was back in the embassy, forced to stay here because the people supposed to be fostering him didn’t want him after all. It was bound to happen, he knew it. His brother hadn’t wanted him, Frank hadn’t wanted him, Tony hadn’t truly wanted him, his own _mother_ hadn’t wanted him; how could the Vulcans want him? The only people who wanted him were the ones who paid, the ones who only wanted the _idea_ of him, but even the thought of them made him sick. Not that it mattered, because Vulcans didn’t do that.

Two shadows belonging to a pair of feet moved to block some of the light seeping in from the crack under the door. Jim stood, stiff and nervous. He was expecting the opening door to reveal the bored face of the ambassador’s secretary, but what he saw instead was the warm smile and kind brown eyes of Amanda Grayson. She waved at him and seemed to laugh at his no doubt dumbstruck look.

‘Hi’ he waved back, finally gaining some semblance of control over himself. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘My husband heard there was a human boy stuck here, looking for a home. We wanted to help’ she signed. There was a gentleness to her smile Jim wasn’t used to seeing. ‘When I heard the boy was deaf, I knew it must be you.’

The Vulcan man Jim had seen on the _Enterprise_ , Sarek, chose that moment to appear at Amanda’s side. He said something to her and she nodded in response, looking pleased.

‘All the paperwork has been taken care of’ she signed to Jim.

‘But’ Jim answered, looking back and forth between the two people standing in the doorway. ‘Why? You don’t even know me. Why would you help me?’

Amanda’s smile saddened. To Jim’s relief, there wasn’t any pity there, only compassion. He hated it when people pitied him.

‘It’s true we don’t know what you’ve been through to end up here all by yourself, but when I met you on the ship you seemed like a nice young man. If there is something we can do to help, it’s our privilege to do so.’

Jim had to blink away the stinging in his eyes. If he had learned something in his life so far, it was that when people seemed too nice to fit in the world he had grown up in, they usually weren’t as nice as they first seemed. There had to be something they wanted from Jim, but he couldn’t think of anything it could be. It seemed his only option was to trust them, at least a little. He would deal with it once they showed their true skins. He might even be shipped back to Earth before that happened.

The thought of having to go back caused a shiver to run down his spine. Amanda gave him a concerned look, but Jim just shook his head and offered a smile. It was a small and careful smile with little true feeling behind it, conjured up to seem polite, but he hoped they couldn’t see past the fact that it was a smile nonetheless.

Not all of the concern left Amanda’s expression, but it softened and she returned his smile with her own much more sincere one.

‘Come’, she waved her hand and they all left the tiny bedroom behind, starting down the corridors of the embassy. He followed a few steps behind them, eyes fixed between Sarek’s shoulder blades, carrying the padd that was now both his only and most valuable possession. They got looks and nods from passing embassy staff, and a few people greeted Sarek, but no one interrupted them and soon they were outdoors in the rapidly heating morning air, going down the steps of the embassy toward a nondescript air car. Amanda turned to Jim, still smiling softly.

‘We live at the edge of the city. Sarek will have to return to work after taking us there, but I will help you get settled. Our son won’t be home until later, either.’

He nodded and they all climbed into the air car, Sarek in the driver’s seat, Amanda in the front and Jim in the back. He watched from the window as they drove through old town and to the edge of the city where the houses were farther apart from each other. Sarek pulled up to a driveway and exchanged a few words and the two-fingered gesture with Amanda. She got out of the car and Jim followed her up the driveway while Sarek headed back towards the city.

The house was shaped like an angular U with a rock garden in the middle. Everything was in one storey. Amanda showed him around the house; on one side of the entrance was a sitting area and behind it in the wing were Sarek’s study and his and Amanda’s bedroom, which had its own bathroom. On the other side was the kitchen, and in the wing on that side were the guest room and their son’s room with a bathroom between them. The house was a moderate size, it didn’t seem excessive for three people but all the rooms were a good size. Jim suspected Amanda had furnished and decorated the house; everything was in light, calm, earthy colours, but the decoration showed that a lot of thought had been put into keeping the space from looking boring.

The guestroom had a small double bed, a desk and a wardrobe. It was furnished like the rest of the house, clean and calm without much decoration. There was a small stack of clothes on the bed, all in airy materials suited for the hot climate. Jim ran his fingers over the fabrics, turning to look at Amanda, who had stayed in the doorway.

‘I thought you might not have clothes fit for these temperatures. We’ll have to go shopping at some point, but there should be something there you can change into. If you want to take a shower, there are towels in the closet in the bathroom.’

Amanda left him standing there, figuring himself out. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel about his situation. Amanda seemed so nice and he really did want to trust her, but after everything that had happened in the last months, he found it hard to believe that things were finally going to be OK.

Jim shrugged himself out of thought and decided to take that shower. He slipped out of his room and into the bathroom, finding a towel in the closet. It felt wonderful to peel off the clothes he had had on for far too long; he had been able to clean up after being caught on the _Enterprise_ and again in the embassy, but having to wear the same dirty clothes every day made him feel dirty, no matter how recently he had showered. There was no water shower here, only sonics, but Jim didn’t mind. He loved the feeling of the pulses cleaning him, knowing he didn’t have to put the dirty clothes on again. The towel was a formality, something to wrap around his hips when he went back to his room since there was nothing to dry off after the shower.

He picked clothes at random from the stack on his bed and pulled them on. He had to fold up the legs of the black, loose-fitting pants a couple of times, and Jim suspected they belonged to Amanda’s son. It was evident the owner of the clothes was a bit taller than him. The grey t-shirt was also light and loose-fitting, not the ‘too big’ kind of loose but the kind you want to wear somewhere hot. He wondered if the guy the clothes belonged to knew Jim would come live here. Would he mind? Was he their biological son or adopted? He didn’t know if it were possible for Vulcans and humans to reproduce. Would he look like a Vulcan, or a human? What if he hated Jim? He really didn’t want to obtrude.

He walked still barefoot into the kitchen and found Amanda making tea. She glanced at him and poured two cups. The spicy scent filled Jim’s nostrils as he sat down at the table and Amanda set a cup in front of him, sitting on the opposite side on the table herself. She looked like she was waiting for him to say or ask something. Jim saw her eyes examine him, lingering on the white scar across his cheek. Finally, when he couldn’t decide what to ask first, she broke the staring contest.

‘You are too thin’ she signed.

‘Yes.’

Jim knew it was true. He had seen himself from the mirror in the bathroom on the _Enterprise_. His cheeks had gone gaunt, his brown-blond hair had lost the golden shine it used to have and there was barely any fat on his body; his skin hung on muscle and bone. Jim wasn’t vain, he had never thought himself particularly good-looking, but now he straight up avoided looking at reflective surfaces. This morning, however, he saw that the few days of good meals and sleep had already gotten rid of the grey sheen in his skin and there was a glint in his bright blue eyes again. It gave him hope, just like the stars had the night before. He would pull through. He was _alive_.

‘How much did they tell you about my past?’ Jim signed, dreading the answer, but he had to know.

‘Only what is relevant’ she signed back. ‘We know you have no parents or guardian, but not how it came to be like that. We know you are not a criminal but that you have had it rough for a few months, but any details are yours to tell if you want to do so.’

 _A few months? Try a few years,_ Jim thought, but didn’t say anything.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ he asked instead, hoping to avoid questions about his past. He might tell them something, at some point, but first he wanted to get to know them. Nice people who had it well didn’t like to hear about the ugly sides of life, and Jim didn’t want to disgust them into throwing him out.

‘Well, today you just get settled, but tomorrow I thought I could take you to the doctor so they can start working on your hearing. If you want to’ she added. ‘I don’t mean to assume that you’re not happy how you are, but you said that your hearing implant is broken so I thought you might want to have it fixed.’

‘That would be great’ Jim replied her, a genuine smile filling his face with the wave of relief and anticipation that ran through him. ‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t know if this is too much to ask’ Amanda signed, looking careful, like she was walking on spring ice and listening for cracks, ‘but do you mind my asking, what happened to your implant? They are quite durable these days.’

‘I -‘ Jim almost started with a lie, but stopped himself and paused. He didn’t have to tell her everything, but he didn’t want to lie. He could have said that he didn’t want to talk about it, but if he was going to try to trust these people, he thought, this was a good place to start.

‘I had an abusive step-father’ he signed, and chose to leave it at that. He cradled the warm cup in his hands and lifted it to his lips, tasting the spices as the tea washed over his tongue. He averted his eyes, not wanting to look at Amanda as she processed the information. Eventually he set the cup back down and met her eyes again. ‘Thank you for the tea. It’s nice.’

Amanda smiled, but she was clearly still shifting through emotions. Jim imagined she was probably going through a list of possible things that might have happened to him to break a device _in his head_. He decided not to elaborate; this way she could settle on the best case scenario. She didn’t need to know the full story.

Jim gave her a few more minutes, both of them sipping their teas, before he changed the subject.

‘How old is your son?’

Amanda’s shaky and sad smile turned into a genuine expression of fondness as she launched into telling him about her son. ‘He is 19. Spock is studying physics, xenobiology and computer sciences in the Vulcan Science Academy. I’m sure you two will like each other.’

He was so surprized when Amanda finger-spelled her son’s name that Jim almost missed the rest.

‘Spock?’ he signed back at her, just to be sure.

‘Yes’ Amanda replied, looking slightly confused.

Jim huffed out a laugh, a grin spreading on his face. He shouldn’t be so surprised, it made perfect sense that Amanda and Sarek would have been at the embassy the night before and so it was only _logical_ that Spock was their son. Still, it was a complete surprise to realize that he would be meeting his stargazing companion again so soon.

‘I think I met your son last night’ Jim explained. He told Amanda how he had been hiding up on the roof and that Spock had come up with the same intentions, and she seemed to find their first meeting very amusing.

When Amanda got up and asked Jim what he would like to eat for lunch, he told her he wasn’t really hungry. Unsurprisingly, she waved away his answer and made something consisting of vegetables and tiny grains that looked a bit like ant eggs. Despite looking somewhat dubious it tasted good. They didn’t talk much as they ate, and although it was only midday, Jim was starting to feel the weight of the night spent awake, worrying. The stress was slowly starting to bleed out with Amanda’s kindness, and whatever fight-or-flight instinct Jim was running on, it was starting to fail him. After helping with cleaning up, he turned to Amanda.

‘Do you mind if I take a nap? I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

There was a gentle knowing in her eyes as she answered. ‘Of course not. Go get some rest.’

He did manage around half an hour of sleep right after collapsing on the guestroom bed, but Jim was startled back to awareness from a hazy state between sleep and waking by the sudden realization that he had no idea where he was. As soon as he jumped up and the clouds of sleep retreated, he remembered, and fell back down slightly out of breath and more than a bit glad no one had seen him panic over absolutely nothing. Heart still racing, Jim rubbed his face and sank once more into the swirling vortex of uncertain thoughts and scenarios of every possible kind where he screwed up and was sent back to Earth.

_Calm down, Jim._

He spent a good couple of hours tossing and turning, not really sleeping but not knowing what else he could do. Amanda was probably eager to get to know him better, but Jim was nervous about being around her. Not scared, definitely not scared. He knew he couldn’t hide forever, that he would have to get used to this knew situation, but honestly, he had absolutely no clue how normal families acted around each other and even less of an idea about what his position in this house was, how they expected _him_ to act.

Eventually, he decided he would never find out if he didn’t face these people. Might as well start while it was only Amanda.

Jim grabbed his padd and almost tip toed out of his room. He found Amanda in the sitting area, working on something on her padd as well. She looked up and smiled at him, seeing if there was something he needed. Jim offered a cautious smile of his own and sat down in a chair. Amanda watched him for a moment as he pulled up the message from Pike and started thinking about a response. He felt a bit awkward being watched like that, but after a few minutes she turned back to whatever she was working on and Jim almost sighed with relief. At least he hoped it stayed at ‘almost’; he couldn’t really be sure what sounds escaped him when he breathed out.

He did really try writing back to Pike, but the more he thought about it the more he realized he didn’t yet know, well, _anything_. Amanda seemed nice, but he really hadn’t had a chance to talk with Sarek yet and his only interaction with Spock so far was based on hiding from the embassy staff in the same place. He didn’t know what would happen to him, apart from maybe, _maybe_ , getting his hearing back, and Jim didn’t even know if they could fix his implant since the external processor was long gone. It seemed pointless to write a one-line response. He’d try again tomorrow.

Thinking about his future, Jim lifted his gaze from the padd and to Amanda. He hadn’t yet properly formed his concern into a question when she noticed he was watching her.

‘What is it?’ she asked after setting down her padd, kind eyes smiling at him.

‘What am I going to do about school?’ he asked her. It wasn’t really everything he wanted to ask about the subject, but it was the core, the starting point. He realized they might not be aware of his situation, so he continued. ‘I haven’t been to school since early June. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not smart enough for Vulcan school.’

‘I’m sure you can continue high school remotely’ Amanda answered. ‘We can look into it right now, if you want to.’

She looked back to her padd and started flicking and typing. After a moment Jim got up and went to sit next to her on the couch, careful to not get too close. They looked through different schools and their policies on remote students, which inevitably lead to half-jokingly looking through universities when, after Amanda asked, it turned out Jim had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do in life. Studying was not something Jim had given much thought to, but it was nice looking through possibilities without yet any pressure to choose.

They had just started looking at European universities, simply because they could, when Amanda’s head whipped up toward the front door. It was getting late in the afternoon and Jim guessed she heard Sarek coming home. And sure enough, right as Amanda stood up, the door opened and her husband walked in, followed by the same young Vulcan man Jim had met the night before. Spock.

Jim stood but hung back when Amanda went to greet her family. Spock’s eyes found him and he nodded before turning back to greet his mother. He didn’t look surprised to see Jim, but then again, Vulcans didn’t really ever look surprised. Sarek nodded his way as well, but turned to listen to his wife for a moment. After a minute Amanda waved Jim over.

‘I would introduce you, but since you have already met both Sarek and Spock, I guess there is no need’ she signed. ‘I’m going to start making dinner. Make yourself at home and don’t feel shy, neither Spock nor Sarek will bite.’

With a playful smile she went to the kitchen and left him standing there, looking after her and feeling quite lost. Sarek disappeared into his study, and Jim was left standing with Spock, feeling very, _very_ awkward.

After standing still for a moment Spock asked Amanda something, and after receiving an answer he gave Jim a look, almost like he didn’t know what to say, before walking over to the bathroom. Jim went into the kitchen and asked Amanda if she needed help with dinner, which caused her to smile and shake her head. When she turned back to the counter Jim looked around to see that the coast was clear and slipped out into the back yard.

He made his way down the paths that led between the rocks and plants - mostly succulents and low bushes that grew needles - into the back of the garden. He ignored a bench he saw on the way and sat down behind a slightly larger rock, right in the back. He leaned his back against the hard and lumpy stone, head falling back and all strength bleeding out of him as he looked out at the view of red sand and stone opening before him. How was it possible that he found it easier to house with drug dealers, prostitutes and homeless people than with friendly, decent people. He knew it would be awkward, at least at first, but this was so, _so_ much worse than he’d thought. The more he stayed out of sight, the better.

Jim’s plan to hide outside, curled up in the warmth of the early evening, was entirely too soon disrupted. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Spock approaching him with deliberate steps, not at all unsure like the first time they were in this situation. The Vulcan simply walked over and sat down on the ground next to him, cross legged and back straight. He had a padd in his hand, and after typing for a moment he handed it to Jim.

_\- I would apologize for intruding, but I would not be entirely sincere were I to do so._

Jim looked at Spock, confused. He got a lifted eyebrow in response to his gaze. Now that it was light, he could see that Spock’s eyes were in fact not black, like he had thought the night before, but the same warm, dark brown shade as Amanda’s.

 _I’m sorry. I’m being rude, hiding out here,_ Jim wrote on the padd and handed it back to Spock.

_\- There is no need to apologize. Amanda and Sarek are simply concerned that you do not feel welcome here._

He simply showed Jim what he had wrote, and when he reached out to write out a protest, Spock took back the padd and wrote something more before handing it to Jim.

_\- I have considerable experience on what it is like to feel out of place. Please be aware that there are very few qualities a person can possess that are frowned upon in this house, none of which you have exhibited thus far. I have been told nothing of the circumstances that led to you coming here, but I assure you, whatever you may have experienced or done in the past cannot make me or my parents despise you. I would consider it an honour to learn your story, but it is who you are now that matters._

Jim stared at the words, swallowing past the lump constricting his throat. Trust it to a supposedly emotionless Vulcan to write the words that hit him where it hurt. He lifted his head to look at Spock, blinking away the burn in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

The words felt sticky in his mouth and scraped roughly in his throat, like his vocal cords had frozen over and his tongue had forgotten how to control the sounds. It must have come out understandable enough, however, because Spock nodded at him.

Clearing his throat to get rid of the roughness, extremely aware of the flush creeping up his neck, Jim turned back to the padd.

_Last night, when we met on the roof, did you know your parents were at the embassy to talk about me?_

_\- I did not,_ Spock wrote his response. - _I was informed after we departed that they were going to foster you._

Jim nodded and continued with his questions.

_Were you on the Enterprise as well?_

Spock gave him an inquisitive look after reading. Jim guessed he hadn’t known Jim had been on the same ship with Amanda and Sarek.

_\- I was not. I have been here, studying, while my parents were on Earth. I live in an apartment in the city and mostly visit on the weekends if Amanda and Sarek are on Vulcan. You were on the Enterprise?_

Jim smiled, a genuine smile that used to come so easily to him, now streaked with a sad undertone.

_Long story that doesn’t have a nice beginning. I’ll try to tell you some day._

Spock’s features softened and there was the same kind of gentleness in his eyes that Jim had seen in Amanda’s. They sat for a moment, side by side looking out at the slowly setting sun, Jim feeling somewhat lighter and definitely less anxious than before. He didn’t know enough yet to allow himself to truly think so, but it seemed that he might have at least one ally in this world.

A soft touch to his forearm turned his attention back to Spock, who handed him the padd with a tiny spark in his eyes.

_\- Come. Let us go have dinner, before Amanda comes searching for us._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Vulcans would actually do weekends, but it's not really that important of a detail for this story, so... yeah. Do you guys have opinions on whether or not Vulcans would have weekends off from school?


	9. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one will bridge the first part of Jim's homeless period with the second. I'm sorry if they seem a bit filler-ish, but they need to be done before we can move on.

 

**Day 15**

It turned out one of Tony’s housemates _had_ in fact been a drug dealer.

After waiting for night to turn into morning in his hidey-hole Jim had made his way back to the big road and jumped on the next bus heading to Sacramento. The guy sitting in front of him had been reading local news on his padd, and Jim had shamelessly read over his shoulder. Apparently, the house he had been living in for a week and a half had been a warehouse of sorts, and in the bust the police had found quite a bit of drugs stashed inside. Jim thought it wasn’t really smart to keep the drugs stashed in a house inhabited by druggies, but hey, it wasn’t like he was going to go into business himself. The news article had also said the police had seen someone fleeing the scene, but there wasn’t any additional information so he wasn’t really worried that someone would recognize him and call the cops on him. Jim was pretty sure Tony hadn’t been dealing, but the news didn’t say what charges he might be facing. His chest felt tight, but there was nothing he could do.

Jim had leaned back and closed his eyes, saying his silent thanks and goodbyes. If he made it somewhere in his life, he would never allow himself to forget that Tony had been there for him, but he doubted they would ever see each other again. It was time to move on. Again.

The bus ride from Salt Lake City to Sacramento had taken basically the entire day, and Jim had used the time to formulate a plan. Unfortunately, his plan required him to wait until Monday morning, so once he hopped off the bus in Sacramento he started scouting for a place to spend the night in. He had enough money to buy food and necessities, like a toothbrush, but nowhere near enough to spend it on a night in a motel. So, after resigning himself into trying to find the friendliest looking alley, it was sheer luck that he caught sight of the sign in a door that read ‘homeless shelter’.

It was a no questions asked -sort of shelter, they hadn’t even ask for any ID. After he told them he was passing through trying to get his life together but didn’t have enough money to rent a room for a night or two, they had simply put down his name and pointed him to the line. It was a restless night spent on a sleeping mat on the floor, using his backpack as a pillow. The sleeping hall was packed with rugged men, and halfway through the night the guy on the mat next to him kicked Jim in the shin. It was better than sleeping out on the streets though, and it wasn’t like he was kept awake by snoring.

Jim had woken up early this morning, following the other guys’ examples and dragging his sleeping mat in the middle of the room and throwing it in the pile. He got out of the shelter pretty quickly after, stopping only to check that all his belongings were still with him. He’d hunted down a corner shop and bought some canned food, some water, matches and a spork. Jim might be homeless, but he wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t afford getting sick, and eating with his hands was a sure way of putting his immune system to the test.

And that brought him to where he was now; sitting on the foot of a statue of some dude riding a horse, sporking pineapple into his mouth straight out of the can, waiting for Sacramento Public Library to open.

_Any minute now._

When a librarian appeared on the other side of the glass doors and started unlocking them, Jim jumped off the foot of the statue, tossed his the empty pineapple can in the trash next to the door, pocketed his spork and got to the door so fast that the guy with the keys gave him a suspicious look. Jim just gave him a lopsided grin and waited for him to finish unlocking. When the glass doors slid apart, he slipped through and headed straight for the computer terminals. They were already booted up, and Jim plopped down in the seat in front of the last one in the row, trying for some privacy from the librarians who were obviously curious about the teenager who had been so eager to get in.

He made the mistake of starting his search with _George Kirk._ Of course, everything that came up was about his father. Jim corrected his search words: _George Samuel Kirk._

Most hits were still about his father, but painstakingly slowly Jim started finding other matches as well. There was a birth announcement; not what he was looking for, but it was a start. Jim dug deeper and deeper, but he was beginning to think the most recent thing he could find was a list of high school graduates.

_Where are you, Sam?_

And then, there it was. A small news article dated a few months back about some facility upgrades in the University of California, San Diego. Jim didn’t give a second glance at the article itself; it was the picture and the caption that got his attention. There were three students in the picture, a girl and two guys, who had been interviewed for the article. Their names were listed in the captioning below. _George Kirk._

He looked a lot like Jim, only a bit older, a bit broader, and with a bit darker hair. His smile was more subdued than the easy grins Jim had learned to throw everywhere. He looked reserved but confident, a lot different from the boy Jim remembered from all those years ago, from before Sam had run away. He looked good. He looked happy.

_Do you go by George now, Sam?_

Jim printed out the picture and tucked it into his backpack to keep it safe. It was well into the afternoon already. Before he left the library, he searched for the bus schedule.

Next stop, San Diego.

 


	10. Day 20

 

**Day 20**

Jim put out the small fire he’d made and grabbed his can of beans. It was almost too hot to hold, so he tugged his sleeve down between his palm and the can. It was still dark, the first touch of morning only starting to lighten the sky as he ate. The beach before him and the ocean beyond were still tinted blue by the night. His cardboard-lined spot under the boardwalk wasn’t exactly warm during the night, but it wasn’t too cold either now that he had more clothes to keep himself warm.

He finished his meal, packed up his things and crawled out of his sandy nest. He walked past a few other homeless, most still asleep, who had made their beds under the boardwalk. He took the next opportunity to climb up to the road from the beach and started his daily walk toward UCSD.

Jim had spent a second night in Sacramento, in the same homeless shelter, before hopping on a bus in the morning and spending most of Tuesday traveling. San Diego’s homeless shelters weren’t as forthcoming as Sacramento’s had been (‘We’re full’, ‘long term program only’, ‘no ID, no bed’) and Jim had been forced to find some other place to sleep. He would never admit to feeling even slightly panicked, but finding the free spot under the boardwalk had certainly been a huge relief. He just hoped nobody bulldozed more sand there to fill the gap. Jim had heard that that was something they did to prevent homeless people from sleeping under there.

He made it to the UCSD dorm building just as the sun was rising, and sat down on the bench on the other side of the road that had become his lookout spot. When he had first come to San Diego, he had walked straight in, just following a guy in university sweats until he had been led inside the dorm. It had been calm, and most students seemed to have gone home for the summer, but Jim had shown Sam’s picture to anyone he met while he wandered the corridors, looking through the names in the doors. Bad luck had, however, inserted itself once again. Before he could find Sam’s room, the campus guard had come and thrown Jim out. It hadn’t mattered that he had tried to explain that he was looking for his brother, and the burly guard certainly hadn’t stopped to write down what he was telling Jim when he tried to tell the man that he was deaf. He had simply been shoved out and given the dirtiest look he had ever received. He hadn’t tried to go in after that; instead, every day since Jim had sat here, on this bench, from dawn to dusk, keeping an eye out at the dorm building’s entrance. He would hold the picture of Sam and show it to people who came out, but so far he had only gotten shrugs and shaking heads as response.

To be honest, he was losing hope. Hours passed and days melted together as Jim sat there, occasionally getting up to intercept a student. It seemed that few spent their summer here, and most of those hadn’t even recognized Sam. A couple had remembered seeing him around, but didn’t know where he could be.

Jim was just showing the picture to some girl, getting a sorry and a shake of her head in response, when a grinning guy appeared at her side and started talking. He was talking way too fast and Jim couldn’t make out much, but the guy was definitely talking to him. Jim flipped over the printed out photo and showed him the back of the paper where he had written ‘I’m deaf. Can you please write down what you are saying?’ The guy looked confused for a second but took out his communicator and started typing frantically, still smiling.

_\- Are you related to George Kirk? You look just like him!_

Jim’s heart skipped a beat.

_I’m his brother, Jim. I’m actually looking for him, do you know where Sam is?_

When the guy read what he had written, his smile vanished and was replaced by an expression of clear discomfort. Jim’s insides flooded with ice as he watched him write out a reply.

_\- Sorry, he’s off-planet on some colony on practical training. He isn’t coming back until Christmas._

Even San Diego in late June can suddenly feel freezingly cold when you realize how utterly, completely alone you are. That there is literally no-one on the entire planet you can go to. That there is no-one left who can help you. That you have nothing. You have no-one.

No-one.

 


	11. Day 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, semi-dubious medicine and science ahead. Please don't decapitate me. Feel free to point out stupid stuff though.  
> Also, day 77 will have a lot more Jim-Spock stuff, I promise.

 

**Day 76**

Jim was sitting on a straight-backed, uncomfortable chair in the waiting area of the hospital in Shi’Kahr. Amanda had helped him check in at the lobby and had wanted to come up, but Jim had told her not to. This was something he needed to do on his own.

There weren’t many other patients around. An elderly Vulcan woman was sitting on the other side of the waiting area, probably waiting to get her hearing checked, but otherwise Jim had barely seen anyone outside of medical staff. Apparently Vulcans didn’t get sick often.

Jim tried not to tap his fingers or fidget while he sat, but he didn’t need to wait long. Unlike a human doctor who would most likely have been late, a middle-aged Vulcan man in healer’s robes came to the waiting area at the exact time his appointment had been made for. Jim stood and bowed his head slightly to the healer, not exactly sure why but it felt right. The healer inclined his head in return and motioned toward an examination room. Jim walked in and the healer closed the door behind them. He took a seat next to a computer terminal and waved for Jim to sit opposite him. The chairs here were much more comfortable.

The healer turned the monitor of his terminal so Jim could see and typed on a notepad-style window that was already open.

_\- Mr. Kirk, I am healer Staal. I specialize in the diagnostics and treatment of non-Vulcans on our planet who are in need of medical attention. I am currently overseeing a human medical intern who has expressed an interest in becoming a surgeon. With your consent, I would invite Mr. McCoy to observe this examination and your treatment._

Jim didn’t particularly want to deal with any more doctors, or interns, than he had to, but he didn’t really care if a student sat in on his examination, either. It wasn’t like they were going to poke around his private bits or anything, so why the hell not? If he were a medical intern he’d want to see everything he could.

Following this train of thought, Jim nodded and watched the healer press a button and talk something into a comm. The door opened not a minute later and a young, brown-haired man in a white coat walked in. To his credit, when he saw Jim the guy, McCoy, only froze for a second before going to sit on a chair in the corner with his padd, only allowing the very briefest wave of shock to flash across his face. Jim, on the other hand, nearly fainted when his brain exploded with panic.

_No no no no no no no no,_ his head rang. _No no no not him not him, he’s gonna tell them and they’ll lock me up or pump me full of drugs or something, shit shit shit shit shit._

Jim was suddenly very, very glad he wasn’t sitting on a biobed, because the erratic beat of his heart would have alerted the healer to the fact that this was not the first time he saw that face. As it was, Jim willed his face to show no sign of his inner turmoil, he concentrated on taking slow, measured breaths and _not_ looking at the intern perched on the chair in the corner of the room, padd prepared for notes. Gradually his heart slowed down, even if it still felt like it was skipping beats and compensating by bumping hard enough to make his chest burst open.

Staal had opened a new entry for Jim’s medical file on his terminal and now shifted his focus back to him.

_\- I understand you have a malfunctioning hearing implant that needs to be tended to. Is this correct?_

‘Malfunctioning’ wasn’t a word Jim would have chosen, but he still nodded and turned his head to show the healer the scarring behind his ear. He could feel McCoy’s eyes following the exchange, but refused to look in his direction.

_\- I see. Your medical file states that you were fitted with bilateral implants at infancy, but one was soon after removed. Why is that?_

Staal moved the keyboard to him so that Jim might write an answer.

_I obviously don’t remember it, but I was told that the processor chips’ signals kept messing with each other and they had to remove the other to make me stop crying._

The healer’s eyebrow twitched and he looked very detachedly fascinated, like only a Vulcan could without seeming overly rude.

_\- An extremely rare occurrence. I will now need to scan the remaining parts of the implant as well as your auditory system in order to determine a proper course of action._

Jim nodded again. _Right, tricorder to the head then,_ he thought. Sure enough, the healer picked up a tricorder and walked over to stand next to Jim, scanning over and around first one ear and then the other, before sitting back down on his chair and marking down the readings on a chart of some kind on his terminal. Sometimes Staal said something, apparently talking to his intern, and from the corner of his eye Jim saw small movements whenever McCoy made notes on his padd. Jim determinedly focused on the monitor and could see that there were different columns for the left and the right ear, but other than that, he had no idea what the readings meant. Finally, Staal opened the notepad again and started typing.

_\- You will require surgery to replace the old implant. In addition to the processor chip being absent, the stimulator implant is severely damaged. The auditory nerve and cochlea on both sides are undamaged, and the microphone is functional as well, but will need to be updated to assure compatibility with the new implant. Technology has advanced since the instalment of your original implant, and the quality of sound has significantly improved. In addition, should you wish, a matching implant can be installed for your left ear as well to provide moderate to full hearing in both ears. It still remains a possibility that the processor signals will react to each other negatively causing headaches and endaural phenomena, but there have been no recorded cases of such happening with the newest implant model commonly in use. The chances of regaining full hearing in your left ear are relatively high, since your brain has learned to process sounds from infancy. It may, however, take some time to learn to locate sounds, should you choose to have a second implant installed. Regardless of whether you will be fitted with one or two new implants, the scar tissue behind your right ear will need to be regenerated as well as possible before the surgery. It can be done immediately, if you are amenable._

Jim read, feeling like he should be incredibly excited. As it was, he felt mostly numb and surreal, not truly believing what he read. Logically, he knew it was almost certain that he would hear again relatively soon, but he didn’t feel like it was true. He didn’t even know what to think of the possibility that he might be able to hear with _both ears_. That was something he’d never been able to do before.

Jim nodded as he finished reading, indicating that he understood. He turned back to the healer and touched the scarring behind his ear, nodding again.

Staal inclined his head and picked up a dermal regenerator, refining its settings and finally coming to stand next to Jim again. The lightest of touches on his jaw indicated that he should turn his head, and Jim was forced to face the corner where McCoy was sitting, but he determinedly fixed his eyes on the intern’s shoes. There was a slight vibrating sensation as the healer started the regenerator, and the skin behind his ear started to tingle. At first the tingling was stronger, covering a larger area, but soon the feeling grew fainter and became more targeted.

McCoy had big feet. He was wearing black, very non-descript shoes, and black slacks that lifted up at the ankles when he sat. His socks were black too, how boring. Though the Vulcans would probably have thought it unprofessional if the intern was wearing pizza-patterned socks or something. The hands holding the padd on his lap were pretty big as well, fingers typing something. They looked clean. His white coat was open and he was wearing a pale blue collared shirt, no tie. It would probably have been extremely uncomfortable in this heat, too bad to have to wear that many layers already. McCoy’s skin looked tanned, and the stubble he’d had the last time they had met had been shaved off. His lips were pressed together and he was frowning, looking down at his padd as he typed.

Except that was when he looked up, hazel eyes catching Jim’s and holding his gaze, wordlessly telling him that he had forgotten nothing, that he had recognized Jim and that he knew fully well that Jim had recognized him as well. Jim swallowed, probably audibly.

Healer Staal saved him by finishing the regeneration then. There was a moment of general shuffling about during which Jim was able to turn away from McCoy again and focus on the healer. They scheduled a follow-up appointment to run an allergy test on Jim to make sure he wasn’t allergic to the anaesthetic they would use in surgery – with his allergies everything needed to be checked beforehand – and until then he had time to think about whether he wanted to go with a single or double implants.

Jim fled the examination room the first second he thought wasn’t rude. He strode across the waiting area, now empty, and palmed the call-button for the elevator. The doors opened after a moment and Jim entered the elevator, checking over his shoulder and thumbing the button for ground floor. But before the doors could close completely, a hand slid in the gap and pushed them open. McCoy slipped into the elevator and the doors slid shut behind him.

He was scowling, but there was also a kindness in his expression, which made for an odd combination.

‘We need to talk,’ his lips formed.

Jim shook his head and backed away a couple of steps, but there was nowhere to go. McCoy had clearly anticipated his answer, because he shoved his padd with a pre-written message on it in front of Jim.

_\- You need to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but let me tell you, the Vulcans won’t understand._

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d left this behind already, hadn’t he? _You always knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Can’t run away from yourself, Jim,_ his own voice told him. He opened his eyes to see that the elevator doors had opened to the lobby. McCoy’s expression had softened, but he stood in the middle with no intention of letting Jim pass.

_I know,_ he wrote on the padd. _Just, one thing at a time? Please?_

He handed the device back to its owner, who read what he’d written and met Jim’s eyes with a searching gaze. He looked much older than twenty-something when he nodded with an expression that told Jim that if he didn’t do something about this, then he would be hunted down by a concerned medical student.

McCoy stepped to the side, allowing Jim to walk past. He halted before he made it out and turned back, grabbing the older man’s bicep. McCoy looked at him, slightly surprised, and Jim bit his lip. Meeting the man’s eyes was much harder now, but he did it anyway.

‘Thank you,’ Jim mouthed, not sure if any sound came out, but he didn’t think the words needed to be heard to be understood. McCoy swallowed and nodded. There was sadness in his eyes and Jim felt a shiver go through the arm he was holding. With a tiny squeeze he let go and turned to walk away, not daring to look back.

 

••

 

Jim lied back on his bed, running fingers over the smooth, sensitive patch of skin behind his ear where the bumpy scar had been. There was a bug walking in the ceiling that looked like a cross between a moth and a bee. It was pretty cute, really.

He didn’t want to be in his room, but it was infernally hot outside and he wasn’t really feeling very sociable after the day he’d had. His insides were churning with a storm of emotions, surrounding the pit of emptiness that had made its home inside Jim during the past few months, or rather, years. There was frustration for his own flaws and inabilities, anger that he hadn’t handled his life better, grim amusement at the universe for putting McCoy on his path again. There was thankfulness. But most of all, there was shame.

The shame was everywhere. It stained his every action, every reaction, his every thought. Jim was ashamed of what he’d done, who he had been. Who he still was. He was ashamed of being weak. He was ashamed of needing help, and now that he’d gotten it, he was ashamed of his inability to accept it. He was ashamed of being ashamed.

_That’s it, Jim_ , he thought and sat up on his bed. _If you don’t want to be so fucked up, go do something about it._

He jumped up and left the room. He’d already filled in Amanda on what healer Staal had told him, but he hadn’t really talked to Sarek or Spock today. Though he didn’t feel any more sociable, Jim decided that step one of being less fucked up was to get used to the people he was living with. He padded down the hall and past the empty kitchen and saw Spock sitting on the sofa, working on something on his padd.

_Fake it ‘till you make it_ , he thought, walked over much more confidently than he felt and sat down next to Spock. He left a respectable gap between them but angled himself toward the Vulcan. Spock lifted his gaze and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. He pulled up a tab to write on and typed on it.

_\- How did your appointment with the doctor go?_

Jim took the padd and typed, tamping down the feelings and memories meeting McCoy had brought up and focusing on the good news.

_It went well, I’ll need surgery but I’ll be able to hear again pretty soon. I might actually be able to hear with both ears this time, but I haven’t made a decision about the implants yet. What are you working on? Am I interrupting?_

There was a small change in Spock’s eyes when he read what Jim had written, a glint and the slightest crinkling in the corners that gave off the impression that he was smiling, even though his expression remained otherwise perfectly blank.

_\- That is good news. You are certainly not disturbing. I am reviewing basic warp theory in respect of general relativity. A professor of mine introduced the topic of hypothetical trans-warp beaming three days ago, and I find myself fascinated with the subject._

Jim nodded and couldn’t help the small grin that tugged on the corners of his mouth. He was pretty smart, but trans-warp beaming? There was a reason no-one had yet made it work. Jim leaned back, tucked his feet under him and waved his hand, encouraging Spock to continue and not mind him. Whatever floats your boat, even if it’s reading about the physics of warp on a Saturday.

It was soothing to watch Spock scroll through page after page of equations and experiment summaries written in both Vulcan and standard. There was no way Jim could read even close to fast enough to keep up, but every now and again he recognized a formula or a name, or caught a word or a sentence that made sense to him. Maybe he was crazy, but there was something deeply soothing about it all. Jim couldn’t remember the last time he would have had the time and energy to think about something that had so little to do with his immediate life, and advanced physics was definitely giving him a chance to stop feeling all the emotions at once. Focusing on something so abstract was giving him a moment of clarity.

A moment during which he realized how exhausted he was. Not that general relativity was boring him to sleep, it was pretty interesting really, but the sofa cushions were soft and surely no-one would mind if he leaned his head here and closed his eyes for a while.

Just for a short while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guesses on how Jim and Bones met? It won't happen for many chapters yet, so you have some time to think on it.
> 
> I honestly have no idea how studying medicine works in US, and I couldn't figure it out with google, so I went with what I know. In Finland medical students have a four month internship after three years of studying, so that's what Bones is doing on Vulcan.


	12. Day 22

 

**Day 22**

San Francisco was cold and foggy and Jim hated it. To be honest, it wasn’t _that_ cold and the sun did make the occasional appearance, but he still hated it. He’d always heard that San Francisco was a happy, colourful city. Maybe it was just his mood, but all Jim could see was grey streets swimming in grey fog. He also hated all the cadets in red who stomped around like they were some kind of superheroes, just because they were in the academy. But most of all he hated the Starfleet officers in their uniforms, rushing about with varying degrees of stress in their steps, giving him their pitying looks as he made his way to the ‘Fleet cemetery.

He’d stopped by the Kelvin memorial, but there was nothing for him there. George Kirk was just a name to him, he had no memories of the man and he knew next to nothing of him. Jim had made his peace with that a long time ago. He had always heard he looked just like George, but he wouldn’t really know. Winona had hidden, or perhaps thrown away, all the pictures. There was one group photo from their academy days she’d kept on her desk. Sam had once pointed their father out for him, but the small face in the back row among a hundred other cadets hadn’t made the man seem any more real. Sure, he could’ve just searched his father on the net, and when he was older he had, but it made no difference. George Kirk was a ghost, a memory that didn’t belong to him, and his existence was about as concrete to Jim as the existence of black holes was to a squirrel. He was the son of George Kirk, but George Kirk wasn’t really his father.

He was also the son of Winona Kirk, and no matter how absent she had been, how un-motherly, Winona Kirk had also been his mother. Jim stared at the fresh grave covered in withering flowers. He could count with his fingers the months Winona had spent with him and Sam in Iowa, at least as far as he could remember. He had wondered time and again why that was.

_What the fuck, mom? Why didn’t you stay?_

But now Jim would never find out. His chance to ask had passed. He’d never had a mother, and yet now his mother was dead.

_If you hated me, I get it. I do. But what about Sam, mom? How could you punish him for being the brother of the kid who looked too much like your dead husband? Did he not deserve to be cared for?_

_Didn’t I?_

Anger boiled in his chest. Anger at Winona, anger at Frank, anger at Sam. He wasn’t angry at his brother for moving on, for making something of his life. He wasn’t even angry that he had run away and left Jim behind. No, he was angry that Sam had escaped but hadn’t so much as once bothered to check up on him, to see how he was doing.

_Did you ever love him?_

And now Jim had nothing left. They had all gone and run to the stars.

_Did you ever love me?_

Jim turned on his heels and stormed down the path, away from the stone that read _Winona Kirk._ There was nothing left for him on this planet, so he might as well take off. That seemed to be what everyone else did.

Frustration clouded his vision, but even so, as he walked toward the gates, Jim saw a figure in red leaning on one of the stone pillars that framed the entrance. It was a cadet, young dark-haired guy with the posture of an asshole and the blue-eyed gaze of a smug bastard. And he was definitely watching Jim. He was going to just walk past, his best ‘fuck off’ –face plastered on, but when he drew closer the guy pushed himself off the pillar and said something, eyes pinned on him. Jim resisted the urge to just keep going and stopped when he reached the cadet. He still carried the printed out photo of Sam in his pocket, so he drew it out and showed the guy the backside that still read _‘I’m deaf. Can you please write down what you are saying?’_

There was an ugly twitch of a grin in Cadet Asshole’s expression when he drew out his communicator and typed out what he wanted to say.

_\- Looking a bit lost there, kid. U in the market for a job?_

Jim eyed the guy, who seemed to be giving him the once-over as well. He bet he knew the kind of job a douche like him was offering. He shrugged and sort of sideways-nodded at the guy, not bothering to make a more pleasant face. The cadet didn’t seem to mind though, just smirked and typed again.

_\- Ur pretty. There’s money in that._

This time Jim took the communicator to write his response.

_I’m not legal._

_\- Which means you get the best paying customers._

Cadet Asshole wasn’t a bad looking guy, but the smile with which he watched Jim was very, _very_ unpleasant. A shiver ran up his spine. Prostitution was a legit line of business, but not an option for him. Even if he was running out of money.

_No thanks._

The guy pocketed his communicator, but in the same motion took out a pen and a napkin. He lifted an eyebrow and wrote down something before handing Jim the off-white piece of tissue. With a final, disgustingly dirty look, the cadet turned and walked off, leaving him to glance down at what he’d written. Under an address written in squiggly letters it read _‘Stop by if you change your mind. –Gary’_


	13. Day 77

 

**Day 77**

There were hands everywhere on his body, blunt nails digging into his skin. He tried to pry them off but where one hand let go another took its place. Everywhere he turned yellow teeth grinned at him, rotting breath filled his nostrils, choking him, he had to fight, had to escape, let go let go let go let–

Jim jumped up on his bed, cold sweat running down his bare back, the sheets tangled around his legs. But there was still a hand on his shoulder. He twisted away, almost falling off the bed, but instead of yellow teeth and rotting breath he was met with the sight of a Vulcan kneeling in the dark next to his bed.

Spock.

They had only known for a couple of days, but Spock’s face was still largely unreadable to Jim, his eyes the only thing to give away any traces of emotion. Now, however, there was clear concern in the Vulcan’s expression. It wasn’t the same as with a human, but the set of his dark eyes, the faint crease between his slanted brows and the slightly parted lips made it obvious; Spock was worried about him.

Jim forced his tense muscles to relax, consciously trying to breathe out the feeling that he needed to run. He sighed and rubbed his face. Spock had lowered his hand and smoothed out his face, though his brows were still furrowed. He was watching Jim, searching his face with keen eyes. Jim wondered if he’d screamed. He must have.

It was still dark, but Jim untangled himself and flung his legs down from the bed. Spock rose from the floor as Jim stood up and picked up the shirt he’d discarded the night before. It was one of Spock’s. He had gone shopping with Amanda after they had left the hospital - Vulcans mostly wore robes and Spock only had so many old t-shirts Jim could borrow – but there was something comforting about the worn, soft fabric of the shirt. He pulled it on, avoiding looking at Spock. He knew he was being rude, that the other boy just wanted to make sure he was alright, but he really didn’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe never.

Jim left the room, barefoot and dressed as he was in his pyjamas, and crossed the dark hallway to slip out into the backyard. The unfamiliar stars were still blinking down at him, the first sliver of morning only just beginning to lighten the horizon. The gravel under his feet was cold and the still air was fresh and cool. It felt the same as that one night when Jim was small, before Sam had run away. It was the hottest summer he could remember, and he and Sam had slept outside on the backyard in sleeping bags, not bothering with a tent. They’d had to run back inside in the middle of the night when it started raining. Frank had been mad at them for getting the floor wet.

The feel of the cool air on his skin was the same, but it smelled different. Iowa had smelled of grass and hay and dew on green leaves; Vulcan smelled of dry earth and hot sand and like something Jim couldn’t put a name on, something sweet – maybe the small shrubs that pushed out between rocks here and there.

Jim glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see anyone inside. Spock had probably gone back to bed. He turned back and walked to the back of the garden, to the spot behind the big rock that had become his safe haven. The sand tickled between his toes and the smaller rocks scratched the soles of his feet, sometimes stinging when he stepped on a sharper bit of gravel. The hairs of his arms stood up when a tiny breeze blew past, but it wasn’t cold enough to make him want to turn back and get a sweater.

He sat down on the ground, feeling instantly much calmer outside than he had inside in the dark, stuffy room. After a minute of simply breathing in the almost-morning air, Jim caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Spock walking through the rock garden with a thick, old-fashioned book in his hands. This was quickly becoming some sort of weird ritual, how Jim would run to the farthest corner of wherever he was and how Spock would come after him. He felt a small smile tug the corner of his mouth as he watched Spock make his way over and sit down next to him. Spock set the book down on his lap and angled himself toward Jim.

‘Will you teach me?’ he signed.

It was slow and hesitant, the way he moved his hands wasn’t quite right, but it was understandable. And it totally caught him off-guard. For a moment Jim could only stare at Spock, who looked more and more uncomfortable the longer he stared, before he managed a jerky nod. Spock relaxed visibly and picked up the old, red cloth-bound book and showed it to Jim.

It was an old sign language book, from around the 20th or 21st century by the looks of it. An antique, really. There were small, inky pictures of signs with tiny arrows pointing the direction of movement, the words printed neatly below each picture. It was the same kind of book he himself had started learning sign language with. There was a book like this in his grandmother’s bookshelf, and he would borrow it to learn the words. He would turn off his hearing implant when he went to visit as a little boy, and he would sit with his granny on the sofa and they would go through the book and she would show him how to make his fingers bend like they were supposed to and how to move his hands. He would practise the new words at night in his bed and the smile she gave him when he next visited and knew more words than the last time was the most beautiful thing he remembered from his childhood.

But of course, a book like this could only get you so far. It was alright for seeing how you were supposed to hold your hands, but the tiny arrows did little in terms of guiding how to actually sign, and the vocabulary was old. Some words were ancient and a lot of words now commonly in use were missing, but it was something to start with.

Jim began by showing Spock some basics. Pronouns, numbers, weekdays. They went through the book and Jim showed him each sign, and Spock would mimic him until he understood it. To his credit, Spock was one heck of a quick learner; most signs he only needed to do once or twice before remembering them. They moved on to other everyday words, and soon they were just flipping the pages of the book and going through the signs in order. When Jim first took Spock’s hand in his to correct the position of his fingers the Vulcan flinched back and blushed a brilliant shade of green that made Jim grin. He had no idea what happened, but he made it a point to personally guide Spock’s fingers with his own every time there was an opportunity, just to see him blush. It was pretty cute how the tips of his ears turned a bright emerald green.

Somewhere around the letter H the book was forgotten when Jim launched into a story about the time he had climbed on the roof of their neighbour’s barn in the middle of the night to graffiti it, but his ladder had fallen down and he had had to sit up there and wait until morning to be rescued. Spock would sometimes ask him to slow down or to fingerspell or explain a sign he didn’t understand, but mostly he just lifted his eyebrows in that way that said ‘I am so not amused’ and actually meant that he found the story hilarious. Or so Jim liked to think. 

It was amazing to see how fast Spock caught on and soon they were having actual conversations, first about simple things like weather, but then Jim was telling his curious companion about everything he had discovered in the bowels of the _Enterprise’s_ engineering deck. It brought a smile to his face to see Spock’s eyes sparkle when they talked about traveling to distant stars, and when Jim told him about the poker game he had accidentally almost crashed, one of Spock’s sharp eyebrows nearly disappeared under those adorably dorky bangs.

Honestly, Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself this much. More than once he snorted out a half held-back laugh, and by the look of Spock’s eyes and that not-smile –smile he had on his face, Jim wasn’t the only one having fun. Spock hadn’t asked him about his past, only asking further questions about things Jim told him about without prompting, which actually made him feel like Spock might be someone he could talk to. Not right now, but maybe someday.

It wasn’t until a bead of sweat rolled down his neck that he realized that both suns had already climbed high up into the sky and the air around them was growing borderline unbearably hot. Jim had no idea how many hours he had lost to the warm brown eyes and the long, pale fingers that moved more gracefully as Spock grew more comfortable with signing, but when he looked into those dark eyes that sparkled with mirth, he knew for certain that he didn’t regret allowing the Vulcan to chase away the horrors of his nightmares.

 


	14. Day 30

 

**Day 30**

Getting a job on a commercial ship turned out to be a bit harder than Jim had thought. Of course, being a thin, deaf, homeless minor with no school diploma, no credible job experience, no references and no ID didn’t exactly help.

Despite the fact that San Francisco had better homeless services than any other city Jim had been to so far, it was by no means easy to find a bed to sleep in. He’d gone to the public library and used one of the terminals to search the city’s shelters. He had methodically visited each one, waited in line until he got to speak to whoever was manning the desk, but they were all full with waiting lists longer than the Mississippi river. Jim wasn’t one to give up – he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios, and he sure as hell was determined to win – but when the andorian lady at the last place on his list had told him they had no free beds, Jim would confess to having felt a wave of desperation wash over him. It must have shown on his face too, because after squirming in her seat and scratching her antenna, she told Jim that she would have to check it with her boss, but she might be able to arrange him a bed.

And she did. The catch was that he had to share the bed with another guy, a young dude who looked like he had just gotten out of rehab or something. The other guy had been there first, so he got to stay the nights, and Jim was told he could come to the shelter in the morning and sleep during the day. The andorian woman told him that they usually didn’t make arrangements like this, because during the days they cleaned the shelter to keep diseases out, but since Jim wasn’t going to be bothered by the noise, they were willing to let him stay.

That had been over a week ago now, and Jim had developed a daily rhythm. The night-sleepers started queuing in at about 19.00 and the shelter would start handing out sandwiches at 19.30. Jim would wake up every day in time to get a sandwich, sit and eat with the others, and then he would go out. During the evenings he walked the streets and stopped to ask for work at every place that was open late; coffee shops, pizzerias, shady pubs that didn’t have bouncers to ask for his ID. Most places were not hiring, and those that were weren’t interested in bothering with the logistics of having a deaf employee. One pub owner had been willing to hire him to do the dishes, but when it turned out that Jim owned no form of identification he was politely told ‘sorry, no can do.’ Apparently the place was already under watch for breaking some health regulation and the owner didn’t want to pay any more fines for having an illegal employee.

But Jim didn’t give up; he walked and asked for jobs and when it got too late and all the possible workplaces had closed, he would find the best lit, safest looking street corner and sit himself down with his empty can. Begging was humiliating and boring, he hated looking so pathetic and San Francisco nights sometimes got so cold that Jim had to put on all his layers to stop the chill from seeping into his bones. Depending on what time he found a suitable corner there was usually an hour or two when barely anyone walked past, and then the early risers would start making their way to work. Jim absolutely hated the various looks of pity and disgust, but he was basically out of money by now and if he had to spend the night outside anyway, he may as well try to make a few credits out of it. On most days the morning rush hour was kind to his can. While it was still early Jim would uproot himself and go buy a can of beans in tomato sauce. He had silently sworn that once he made it out of this mess, he would never eat beans again. After eating his breakfast-slash-dinner, Jim would make his way to the civilian shuttleport.

The flaw – as he came to recognize it – in his masterplan of getting off of Earth was that cargo vessels and other ships that he might have a chance to get a job on all docked in space, and although lying, forging and hacking his way on board a shuttle would have been easy, coming back down without an ID would be downright impossible; Starbase 1 was mostly run by Starfleet and the border control reflected that. So, without a fool proof plan on how to continue his journey once he got on the Starbase, Jim was stuck down. Still, every day he would go to the shuttleport and visit the offices the bigger cargo- and transport companies had there and ask for a job. Some days he got an actual interview, most days he was just given an amused look and told to ask somewhere else. And every day would end with him having to go back to the shelter, tired and a little more desperate than the day before, to take a cold shower and collapse on his cot to get five or six hours of sleep.

Today, after his five-and-a-half hours of sleep, Jim thought that if he didn’t have to give up his bed for the night, he might not get up at all. That morning on his round of asking for jobs he had visited the very last transport office on the shuttleport. There was no point in going back there; short of buying a forged ID chip – which cost a fortune – for the starbase’s border control, he had no way of getting off-planet.

As he got up and made his way to the sandwich que, Jim started forming a new, short-term plan.

_One: get a job – like that’s been going so well. Two: save up for a fake ID. Three: get on Starbase 1. Four: get a job on some cargo ship that’s going to get you the hell out of here._

_Right. Where do I get a job?_

 

It was almost 23.00 by the time Jim started climbing the stairs of an apartment building, headed for the third floor. It wasn’t in the nicest part of town, but the building looked clean and fairly well-kept. On the third floor he stopped, checked the address and knocked on the first door. It took a minute for anything to happen and Jim had just convinced himself that his was the worst idea of his entire life – which it definitely was – and was just about to leave when the door opened. There, wearing that ugly grin on his face, stood Cadet Asshole. He wasn’t quite sure, but when the older man spoke Jim thought he might have said ‘Took you long enough.’ Jim didn’t even try to smile or look pleasant in any way, but despite the still-growing sensation of ‘I shouldn’t be here’ he stepped inside the apartment when Gary waved him in.

It was a pretty sizeable apartment for a student with a separate kitchen and living/bedroom. Jim was led into the kitchen, where Gary had apparently been working on something for the Academy; there were padds and textbooks spread on the table.

_Student by day, pimp by night,_ Jim thought. _Classy._

Cadet Asshole pushed aside the stuff and picked up his personal padd from a chair. Jim sat down without prompting because there was no way he was going to stand around and wait to be told what to do. Gary seemed to enjoy his attitude and sat down on the other side of the table. Jim waited arms folded across his chest while the other man typed and finally pushed the padd on his side of the table.

_\- Decided to come after all?_

Jim chose to not answer, instead getting straight to the point.

_Cut the crap, Gary. Why were you at the graveyard? Did you follow me?_

He could see that the asshole shook with laughter as he read. Gary gave him a measured look, but finally started typing again.

_\- I don’t follow people. Fleet cemetery’s a good place to recruit. You’d be surprised how many fleet brats go there all lost and just waiting for someone to come and give them a little push._

And that proved to Jim that this Gary was a certified Grade A asshole. He took a moment to seriously consider leaving. Jim really didn’t want anything to do with someone whose conscience allowed them to prey on mourning kids with absent or dead parents. It was sick. But then, he wouldn’t be here if he weren’t desperate. So far he had managed to keep himself alive with whatever people dropped in his can on the street, but if he was going to move on with his life he needed to start earning more than the cost of a can of beans. And the quicker he earned it, the better.

_So what’s the deal then?_  he finally typed.

 


	15. Day 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we all know the way Spock speaks, and I know that the word choices and stuff of Spock-speak don't quite translate into sign language, but I just couldn't bring myself to write his lines in any other way, so.. sorry?
> 
> Also, I don't think I've said this before but this story is not beta'd. I had some difficulty writing this and I hope I got all the typos and wrong grammatical tenses corrected, but if I missed some feel free to point them out.

 

**Day 81**

As it turned out, despite the fact that Jim had practically zero experience in what it was like to live with a normal – or at least semi-normal – family, it actually wasn’t the day-to-day living under the same roof that caused problems.

Jim had resumed his high school studies through the net, so he mostly just stayed in the house and worked on school stuff during the day. Sarek was at the embassy a lot, and when he wasn’t he worked in his study. Amanda was gone most days as well, teaching at the human school at the embassy. Later, when everyone was back, they ate dinner together and talked about what had been happening and what Jim had learned that day. It was weird and a bit awkward and Jim couldn’t help but think he was being questioned when they asked him about his day, but at the same time the domesticity was also surprisingly easy and didn’t require much effort at all. Amanda was possibly the nicest person Jim had ever met in his entire life, and although Sarek was stiff and properly Vulcan, he also took Jim seriously and didn’t dismiss his intellect just because he was young.

No, although he was worried that he wouldn’t fit into their ordinary life, it was not the routine interactions that proved problematic. It was the times when he did something impulsive and unplanned – which, being Jim, he did quite often - that Jim was shown how little he knew about communication between family members, foster or otherwise.

See exhibit A: today - day 4 out of 11 in the Vulcan week, or as Jim called it, second Tuesday (he didn’t know what weekdays were called on Vulcan).

Jim was getting bored of studying. Already after only a couple of days he was two weeks ahead of the schedule, so why shouldn’t he take a day off to do something else. Jim had been putting it off, but he thought it was about time he wrote back to Captain Pike. He’d erased a dozen tries already, but the captain had been nice to him and because Jim wasn’t a total asshole he thought he owed it to the man to check back at least once. Also, if he was secretly looking up to the friendly officer just the tiniest bit, then no one need know. So, Jim sat down on his bed with his padd and after squirming and erasing – he didn’t think calling Sarek ‘all regal and shit’ was appropriate - and rewriting for an hour, he thought he had managed to produce something half-decent.

 

_Hi Pike._

_Sorry to keep you waiting. I don’t know if you know this already, but I’m living with Mr. Sarek and Mrs. Grayson. It’s been about an Earth week now, and so far things are pretty good. They’re both really nice, even if Sarek is kind of intimidatingly Vulcan. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say that, but I can’t think of a more politically correct way of describing him, you know?_

_The school at the embassy is for little kids, so I started school again through the net. Most of it is self-paced, which suits me fine. It’s a lot easier than I remembered._

_I thought the child services would be all up in my business, but I haven’t heard anything from them. I don’t know if they’ve been talking with Amanda and Sarek, but they haven’t told me anything. I don’t know if they don’t want to remind me of all that hassle or what._

_Anyway, I wanted to thank you for not tossing me out an airlock. I hope the people at engineering are not still mad at me._

_Jim Kirk_

 

It wasn’t a real ‘thank you’, but it was the best he could bring himself to write. Finally deciding the message was good enough, Jim sent it and fell down on his bed. Thinking about child serviced sucked, because really, he hadn’t been a child in _years._ He could take care of himself. More or less.

Rolling to his side Jim grabbed his padd again, an idea creeping to his brain.

_What’s your address?_

He and Spock had exchanged a few messages through the last few days, mostly in the evenings when Jim asked him what lectures Spock had had, or what experiments he’d done. He had noticed that while Spock was initially the quiet type, he could also talk a lot without revealing anything personal. Jim could respect that; he’d mastered the skill himself. Learned it in ‘Bullshitting 101’.

The reply with Spock’s address, accompanied by a ‘why do you wish to know?’ came a minute later, but Jim didn’t write back. Instead, he pulled out a map and entered the address. It was in the city, but closer to the Vulcan Science Academy than city centre, and to someone raised on the countryside where everything was far away, it was totally within walking distance.

And that was how Jim ended up in the city of Shi’Kahr, sitting on the floor in the hallway outside Spock’s apartment. The walk took a while, but it was still fairly early when he left and he wasn’t in a hurry. It was hot as hell outside, but with the power of the two bottles of water he brought with him he made it through the dry heat of Vulcan day. The sun had given his pale skin a touch of colour, but his nose and earlobes were also feeling hot to the touch. Oh, joy.

Because Jim had decided to take the day off from school, he hadn’t brought his padd to keep him company while he sat on the cool stone floor and waited for Spock to come home. Instead, he had picked two books from Amanda’s bookshelf to bring along; a Vulcan to English dictionary and a random book written in Vulcan that he had no idea what it was about. It could have been the Vulcan equivalent of the Bible or a manual on how to use a sonic shower and Jim wouldn’t have known the difference.

The book was full of ornate squiggles that looked quite a bit different from the less-ornate squiggles in the dictionary, and Jim was having a hard time figuring out which squiggles matched each other. He was only just starting to figure out the _alphabet_ , much less actual words, when a pair of feet emerged and halted in his peripheral vision. Looking up, Jim grinned when he saw Spock standing there, dressed in dark robes, one eyebrow climbing so high up his forehead that it half-disappeared under his bangs.

‘Hi’ Jim waved cheerily and scrambled up from the floor. Spock’s eyebrow twitched but didn’t descend from its high position.

‘Amanda commed me,’ Spock signed. ‘She was worried because you were not there when she went home.’

For a moment Jim felt proud for how fluidly Spock formed the phrases and how gracefully his hands moved. And then the words started sinking in. The pride was first replaced by confusion and then embarrassment, accompanied by a hot flush creeping to his cheeks.

Jim’s jaw dropped and his lips formed the circle you would associate with the sound ‘oh’. He was really not used to people caring about where he was and what he was doing, so of course he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. He hadn’t even taken any communication device with him.

Spock’s eyebrow twitched again and there was a sparkle in his eyes when he watched comprehension dawn on Jim. And then _another_ kind of comprehension dawned on him when he watched Spock watch him.

‘Are you laughing at me?’

The way Spock’s spine straightened would have been indignant and borderline condescending if it weren’t for the glimmer in his dark eyes and the way his head tilted ever so slightly to the side in what Jim thought was _clearly_ amusement.

‘Vulcans do not laugh.’

It was Jim’s turn to raise his eyebrows, although he couldn’t do just the one, so he did them both.

‘Bullshit.’

It was adorable how the tilt of Spock’s head shifted from one side to the other and his eyebrows came together in a frown that lasted only a second before smoothing out.

‘I am unfamiliar with that sign.’

So Jim fingerspelled it for him.

He could have _sworn_ the corner of Spock’s mouth twitched when he turned away from Jim and unlocked the door to his apartment.

It was a two-room apartment; there was a kitchen with a four-person table and a bedroom with a bed, a desk, a bookshelf and a dresser in it. There was a terminal on the desk and a few old paper books in the bookshelf along with a single framed picture of a young Spock with Amanda and a furry creature Jim couldn’t name, but otherwise the apartment was quite spartan. Jim sat down at the table and watched as Spock put water in a kettle and took tea out of a cupboard. While he waited for the water to boil, he took out his communicator and commed someone. Probably Amanda.

Jim watched him talk and make tea and he wondered what Spock sounded like. He didn’t usually think about stuff like that, and he didn’t know why he was thinking about it now. When Jim was a tiny little kid, he had resented the fact that he needed help to hear, but his grandmother had taught him to appreciate the peace and consistency of his particular brand of silence. And later, after she died and Frank had come into the picture, he had learned to live with the hours and days when the silence wasn’t there because he chose it. Jim did like hearing, but he didn’t dislike the silence like he disliked the chaotic bombardment of noise when the hearing implant suddenly started working again and all the sounds would come flooding in, always too loud and unexpected. The adjustment period always gave him migraines.

If he was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t yet sure he actually wanted to go through that again.

But now he was thinking about what Spock sounded like, and the thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. Did Spock have an accent when he spoke standard? Was his voice high-pitched or low? By the way his lips moved, Jim thought the speed of his speech would be pretty normal, but maybe he had a lisp. Maybe Spock stuttered. Perhaps his voice was quiet, or raspy, or maybe he mumbled.

Spock handed Jim the other cup of tea and told him that he had an experiment report to finish, so they moved into the other room. Spock sat down at his desk and worked on his report while Jim sat cross-legged on his bed, the two books he had brought open in his lap and pretended to be learning Vulcan. In reality though, he just sipped his tea and watched Spock work. His long fingers flew over the keyboard and rows of squiggles emerged on the terminal. There were tiny little changes in his expression as he worked; sometimes his eyebrows would knit together and his fingers would pause for a second, sometimes his lips would press into a thin line and sometimes he would seem to relax, his hands working even faster, like he knew exactly what he wanted to write. Sometimes Spock glanced his way, but he didn’t seem to mind that Jim was staring, so he didn’t bother with trying to hide it.

He was so deep in thought by the time Spock finished his report that he didn’t even notice at first that the Vulcan had turned his way and was watching him. Jim physically shook himself back to the present and shot Spock a grin, making the infamous eyebrow twitch in response.

‘What are you reading?’ Spock asked him, even though Jim knew he had noticed that Jim hadn’t actually looked at the book in his lap in a long time.

‘I don’t know’ Jim shrugged and lifted the book, showing the cover to Spock. Either Jim was becoming more adept at noticing the changes in his friend’s – _when had he started thinking of the Vulcan as his friend? –_ expressions, or Spock had started being more expressive around him, because Jim could once again see the brown eyes glimmering and crinkling in the corners, and he thought there might even have been a slight curve to his lips. Or maybe he was imagining things.

‘That is an old compilation of the teachings of Surak.’

Right. Which meant that the random book Jim had grabbed actually _was_ the Vulcan equivalent of the Bible. Perfect.

Jim shrugged again and grinned, because why not? If he was going to learn Vulcan, he might as well learn the basis for their philosophy as well. Although maybe he would prefer a copy that was written with the same squiggles as the dictionary.

He was going to tell Spock this, but his hands and perhaps his subconscious had other ideas, because what he ended up signing was ‘I want to hear again.’

This elicited a reaction in Spock that in a human would have resembled confusion.

‘Did you not want to hear before?’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ Jim answered.

‘What inspired this decision?’ Spock asked, still looking a bit like he wasn’t quite grasping what Jim was telling him.

Jim could feel the blush creep up his neck, but he decided to be honest, even if it was illogical and embarrassing and everything. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever.

‘I want to hear you.’

Spock’s expression softened. He rose from his chair and sat down on the bed next to Jim, close enough that the sleeves of his robes brushed against his knee when Spock signed.

‘You do not need to do that for me. I am…’ A pause. ‘…Happy with how we communicate now.’

Jim was already shaking his head before Spock was finished.

‘I’m not doing it for you, I wouldn’t do that. I know it’s what people expect, but I don’t make my decisions based on other people’s expectations. I’m doing it because of you, but it’s for me.’

And suddenly the room felt too small and his skin too tight. He was blushing vigorously and the air felt like he was breathing electricity, and there was something in Spock’s warm brown eyes when he looked at him and Jim was starting to panic about all the butterflies trying to burst out of his stomach.

And then Spock’s head whipped around toward his desk, like he was startled, in turn startling Jim. He looked around as Spock stood up and saw that the communicator sitting on the edge of the table was blinking. Spock answered it and spoke a few words before setting it back down and turning back toward Jim.

‘Sarek will pick you up on his way home.’

All the air left Jim’s lungs in a rush. Now that the moment was broken, if it was even physically possible, he blushed even harder.

‘Right. Okay.’

 


	16. Day 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for the wonderful comments and reviews I've been getting. I'm going through a little bit of a chrisis with this story, I know exactly where I want it to go and how I want it to feel but getting it from my head and into a form that I can proudly put out here has been an ever increasing challenge. So, yeah, thanks for all the support. It means the world to me.

 

**Day 85**

_Jim,_

_I’m not in the habit of throwing teenagers out of airlocks._

_I was trying to keep up with your case, but apparently being a captain isn’t enough of an excuse to flag child services’ files. Vulcan culture can be a bit much to get used to, but I’m glad you have Mrs. Grayson for support._

_I know you’re a genius and all, but please try to finish your schools and not skip too much homework. If you get your papers out you could get into any school you want. I think you’d do well in Starfleet Academy._

_I won’t haunt you if you don’t, but I’d like it if you kept in touch._

_Pike_

_Ps. Whenever a wrench or something goes missing in engineering, they joke that you must be on board again._

 

••

 

For once in his life, Jim was _not_ allergic to something. It was refreshing.

After his, for a change, non-disastrous appointment at the hospital, he had the chance to corner McCoy in the corridor on his way out. This time though, it was Jim who had come prepared with a pre-written message.

_Can I talk to you for a minute?_

The intern frowned, looking slightly surprised, but there was barely a second of hesitation before he nodded. He followed McCoy down and out into a spacious garden where a few long-term patients were sitting on benches and walking with visitors. The scent of hot sand dominated the air, accompanied by that sweet scent Jim had started to simply think of as _Vulcan_. They found a bench of their own in the shadowy part of the garden and sat down.

_So, you’re just a student, right?_

McCoy simply nodded in response.

_So are you allowed to do tests?_

This time he got a raised eyebrow and a written response. Seriously, did everyone except him have some superior control over their eyebrow muscles?

_\- What kind of tests?_

_I don’t know. Like, blood tests?_

Jim squirmed under the scrutiny of hazel eyes boring straight into his soul. He considered making a run for it and avoiding all hospitals for the rest of his life, but he’d come this far already and honestly, this was something he should’ve done a long time ago.

_Like, let’s say I forgot to wear a rubber._

McCoy looked like he was barely managing to only huff and puff instead of yelling at Jim for being a bloody idiot or something, which, considering Jim wouldn’t be able to hear the ranting, would only make McCoy look stupid.

_\- You got a rash?_

_No, nothing like that. I just thought I’d like to be sure. You know._

It was easy to pretend he’d just had a bit too much fun, like he didn’t really care too much. That was how Jim dealt with things; he made jokes and acted all light and airy when in reality he was worried and anxious and half terrified but really just didn’t want anyone to see. And most people didn’t. McCoy, however, seemed to have that ability to see straight through him, like Pike had. The crease between his brows was pretty impressive, but the man didn’t look as much angry as frustrated, and after scowling and grinding his teeth for a moment he seemed to deflate just a little bit.

_\- Fine. I’ll check you out._

_Thanks, Bones._

McCoy was already halfway up from the bench when he glanced at what Jim had written. His frown positively oozed annoyed confusion as he flopped back down next to him.

_\- Why the hell did you call me that?_

Even if the memory wasn’t a particularly pleasing one, Jim still managed a small smile.

_You had an anatomy book with you that night. There were bones on the cover. You never told me your name and I’m so not calling you McCoy._

Jim was sure that if McCoy had rolled his eyes any harder, they would have fallen out. He scrambled after the doctor-to-be, trying to catch up, and this time the grin that split his face came easily, unforced.

 

••

 

_Pike,_

_Why on Earth would I want to join Starfleet? Like, seriously. Give me one good reason._

_Jim Kirk_

_Ps. I’ve secretly perfected trans-warp beaming and now have an impressive collection of wrenches._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't reveal what Jim's choice about the implants was. Yes, I know I am evil, again. Oops.


	17. Day 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Underage prostitution. This chapter only and it's not very explicit.
> 
> Sorry for going MIA. I have one more pre-written chapter to post and then we'll be caught up. I'll try to keep posting regularly, but as of right now I'm so busy I can't promise anything.

 

**Day 43**

After the first time Jim had sucked a guy’s dick for money he had spent the better part of the rest of the night retching his guts out.

The job became easier each time after that. At first the clients Gary gave him were relatively young and, objectively speaking, not bad to look at. He could pretend the guy fucking him was someone Jim wanted to be with. And when he started getting clients that he didn’t like to look at, he would close his eyes and imagine someone else. Another client, a good-looking guy he’d seen walking down the street, Tony. Jim was glad Gary didn’t try to give him female clients. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to do it for some cougar.

He always met them in motel rooms, or on the rare case in an actual hotel. He wasn’t stupid; he’d made it clear to Gary that he wouldn’t go to anyone’s home to be murdered or trafficked off-planet as a slave. So he mostly met the clients in rented rooms of various levels of cleanliness. There were a few who had only been after something quick and easy, but the vast majority clearly had some sick fantasies they wanted to live through a blue-eyed blond kid.

Gary might have been a real piece of shit, but at least he knew how to keep his business running smoothly. They always paid the right amount without being told to, all the clients seemed like it wasn’t their first time ‘ordering services’ through Gary, and not once had a client freaked out about Jim being deaf. Because they couldn’t tell him what they want there was a lot of sort-of-awkward tugging and pushing and interpreting their gestures, but honestly, Jim was nothing but glad that he couldn’t hear them. It made it easier to distract himself with other thoughts. He could still smell them though, see them if he opened his eyes, feel the texture of the skin in their hands when they touched him. He could feel their lips move against his skin when they spoke. Teeth run over his shoulder. Hot breath on his back when they came.

Because Jim didn’t have a padd or a communicator, he had to pick up the client list from Gary in person. That had been incorporated into his daily routine. Jim would wake up in the afternoon and collect his client list from Gary’s apartment, giving him his share of the money – the _pimp tax_ as Jim thought of it – from the previous night and then he would head out. If the schedule allowed, Jim would search for a proper job before seeing clients. He knew Gary was taking a disproportionally large cut, but he couldn’t really cheat the guy and earn more. He knew Gary wasn’t stupid; there was no way nobody was looking for Jim the underage-homeless-person, and Gary could easily rat him out. So, Jim gave the asshole his share without grumbling.

The clients always paid without a problem and Jim was making progress toward affording a forged ID, but each check-in with Gary was more disgusting than the last, and every night, though they were getting easier, made Jim hate himself a little bit more. Each afternoon it was harder to force his eyes open, to swing his feet off the cot and get up. He counted his money every day. He counted how much he’d made, how much of it he had to use to buy food, how much he thought he still needed. He counted how many clients he thought he had to see before reaching his goal, and he tried to keep the count in mind when he worked. But every day, every client, made Jim feel sick and angry with himself, made the voice in his head scream at him for being a failure, for not being good for anything but this. And yet he kept going back.

And once again Jim found himself standing behind Gary’s door, waiting for the door to open. But this time was different, this time the voice was holding his breath rather than scream. This time he felt determined and numb instead of sick. It had been three days since he’d last come to get a client list, and he was yet to give Gary his share on the last jobs. It had been a risk to stop coming, but Jim hadn’t been able to make himself do it. Hadn’t been able tell himself it was wort it.

So, when the door finally opened and revealed the pissed-off face of his pimp, Jim punched him square in the middle of the face. He could feel Gary’s nose do an unnatural roll when his knuckles made contact.

Ignoring the throbbing ache radiating through his hand, Jim grabbed the agreed amount of credits and dropped them straight on top of the guy glaring up at him in shock from the floor.

“I quit” he spat, not caring whether or not his voice even carried after such a long time of disuse, turned around on his heels and marched down the stairs.

 


	18. Day 88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning: obscure references to other chapters with warnings. Like, all of them.
> 
> Also, something I'd like to address: There are references in TOS that a Vulcan's body temperature is lower than a human's. This doesn't really make much sense to me and I've had trouble integrating this to my personal headcanon. While writing this chapter I thought about whether I wanted to go with higher or lower body temperature, but since McCoy keeps screaming in my head about 'green ice water' (The Paradise Syndrome) I chose to go with the latter. I know this is not how most people write it, and I myself have written about higher body temperature in at least one fic before, but to me the lower temp seems more canon than the higher, so that’s what I went with. I don’t know if this is the policy I’m going to go with in the future as well. We’ll see.

 

**Day 88**

James T. Kirk was a survivor. He didn’t need anyone to hug him or kiss better his boo-boos. He’d practically taken care of himself for years before he’d finally been _forced_ to take care of himself. James T. Kirk was strong and independent and all the other clichés that meant he didn’t need anyone because he had it all under control.

Except that was all bullshit because people who had it all under control could sleep without a problem. And James T. Kirk couldn’t sleep. Because of _nightmares_. They changed each night and yet remained the same, and Jim was starting to dread sleeping. It was stupid.

 

Spock was teaching him how to play chess. They’d played earlier that day, and Jim couldn’t really remember why they were playing again, but that didn’t matter. Spock was beating his ass in chess, and although Jim didn’t think the game was particularly exhilarating, he was enjoying learning something new and Spock was pretty cute when he thought Jim couldn’t see his little smug not-smile when he won. Only thing was, it was cold. Why was it cold? Jim was shivering. He drew a shuddering breath and looked around at the dark deserted street. A streetlamp flickered overhead, and Jim turned back to look at Spock. But Spock wasn’t Spock, his hair was all wrong and the chocolate eyes paled into misty grey and he was grinning like a hyena after easy prey. Jim pushed himself away from the table but he lost his balance and his chair dipped and he fell, his back hitting a creaky wooden floor, splinters scratching and digging into his skin. And when he shoved himself off the floor he found himself in a motel room, a faceless man tugging him by the wrist toward the bed, but Jim turned and ran and felt blood drip down his neck and there were hands everywhere, grabbing, touching, pulling and he kicked and shoved and scratched his way through until he was falling, falling-

Jim woke up panting, covered in cold sweat. He glanced at the glowing chronometer sat on the edge of the desk. 1:58. Vulcan days were something like 0,036 times shorter than Earth days, but that didn’t really matter since Jim’s body was adjusted to Vulcan time and either way, it was still the dead of night. He turned to gaze up at the ceiling while his eyes adjusted to the dark. His racing heart was gradually slowing down, still pumping with enough force to send shockwaves into his surroundings.

Jim slipped out from under the blankets, a shiver running up his legs as his toes hit the cool stone floor. He stood there in the middle of the room for an undeterminable amount of time, staring at the shadows ahead without really seeing anything. He was so tired.

His legs took him to the door. The handle was cool to the touch when he opened it and slipped through. The air inside the house was always warm and the stone floor was smooth under his bare feet as he walked down the hallway. The rock garden outside was bathed in purple darkness but Jim barely spared a glance to the windows, mind numb and eyes fixed ahead as he went where his feet took him.

Spock slept on his back. His features were smoothed and relaxed, free from rigid expressionlessness. Jim sat down on the hard floor next to the bed and leaned his forehead on the mattress, eyes sliding shut as he breathed out all the air in his lungs.

There was a tentative touch on his shoulder, the slightest graze of fingertips. Jim lifted his head and opened his eyes to see Spock propped up on one elbow, the other hand still hovering mid-air. His hair was slightly ruffled and he looked confused. After a moment of bleary staring the hovering hand moved to fold up the edge of the blanket. All the tension bled out of Jim as he crawled up next to Spock and curled up against the side of his inhumanly cool body. He closed his eyes and fit his face in the crook of Spock’s neck, feeling the blankets being shifted up to cover them both. There was a touch, like a feather against his cheek as he sank into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

 

Waking up in someone else’s bed should have been horrendously awkward, especially since Jim only had a vague memory of how he got there. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows by the time he rolled around and peeked out from under covers. Spock was sat at his desk, working on something on a padd. When Jim stirred he looked up, his gaze softening when he saw Jim was awake.

‘Good morning,’ Spock signed.

Waking up in someone else’s bed should have been horrendously awkward, so why did Jim not feel like he needed to dig a hole and hide?

 


	19. Day 90

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so late, but it's an important one and I couldn't rush it.  
> I know the sign language in this chapter is a bit implausible. Hope the rest of it makes up for that.

 

**Day 90**

Jim was just getting dressed when he caught a flash of colour move in his peripheral vision. The sight of the small, pink flower lying on the floor next to the door brought a smile to his lips. It was a silly little system that worked surprisingly well; because Jim couldn’t hear it when someone knocked, Amanda had started pushing a slip of paper under the door to catch his attention. Both Sarek and Spock had taken to the habit immediately, since it was logical to announce one’s presence before demanding entry. When, after a few days, the bland piece of paper had been replaced by a simple paper flower in a bright fuchsia colour the Vulcans had given it the eyebrow of doom, but Amanda had still gotten her way. If he was completely honest with himself, Jim preferred the flower as well. For such a small act of consideration it made him feel irrationally happy, more so than any birthday message from his mother ever had. It was like a message left on the fridge door or a plate of cookies on the counter; it showed him it didn’t need to be a special day for him to be remembered.

He crossed the room, tugging his robe on. Vulcan robes were surprisingly comfortable and covered more skin than a t-shirt and pants while somehow managing to keep him relatively cool. Sure, they looked a bit like a cross between a medieval dress and a Jedi’s robe, but he’d had to concede that Vulcans knew how to handle their climate. When in Rome and so on, right? So, Jim straightened his simple tan robes and opened the door to see Amanda standing there, looking uncharacteristically serious. She was a woman who always had a shine in her eyes; either it was a warm glow or an amused glimmer, but it was always there. Now, however, she looked abnormally stiff and somber. Not sad or angry or even concerned, just... serious.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jim asked and stepped out of his room. Amanda’s eyes softened a bit and she offered a small smile, but it was a subdued version of her usually warm and easy smile.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she answered. ‘It’s just…’

She paused for many long seconds during which Jim had time to come to the conclusion that they were sending him away. Sarek’s tolerance for human bullshit was up, or maybe Amanda thought he was bad influence for Spock. Shit, maybe they had seen Jim sleep with Spock that one night and thought Jim was taking advantage, even though it had been completely innocent. That must be it. He had finally thought he had a good thing going and now he’d managed to screw that up as well.

When Amanda finally continued she seemed to deflate a little, which only fed Jim’s growing anxiousness.

‘I just got a message. The child services representative arrived on Vulcan yesterday and she would like to talk to you as soon as possible. Sarek and I will obviously have to talk with her as well, but you’re her main concern.’

It wasn’t much of a comfort to know it wasn’t Sarek and Amanda who wanted to send her away, since the child services lady was probably going to do that without asking.

Feeling a sick twisting in his stomach Jim told Amanda he was ready to go whenever she wanted. He followed her through the house and out into the mid-morning sun. Sarek was there, standing next to the air car and talking with someone on his communicator. His back was ramrod-straight and he looked even more intimidating than usual. There was a small frown on his face, a crease between his eyebrows. Once he saw them come out of the house he ended the call with a few short words and beckoned them to climb in the car.

The ride was an excruciatingly slow one, and Jim spent the entirety of it rebuilding his walls. Spock, especially Spock, but Amanda and even Sarek, too, had managed to crawl under his defences and now he had to steel himself, distance himself from them and prepare for the inevitable goodbyes. Nothing good ever lasted, and he was a fool to have let himself get comfortable. It would only make it harder to uproot his life. At least he now knew better than to let it happen again.

By the time they reached the human embassy, Jim had put up a façade so emotionless a Vulcan would be proud. They were met at the entrance by a bespectacled woman with mousey hair drawn into a bun so tight it was giving her a facelift. The glasses looked like they were an accessory and not prescription – most people had their vision fixed with corrective eye drops nowadays, anyway – and her perfectly pressed skirt suit looked like it was the most uncomfortable thing you could possibly wear in this weather. The only thing missing from her porn-vid-secretary -look were a pair of 5 inch stilettos – she’d opted for 3.5 inches instead. Hovering at her shoulder was a dark middle-aged man dressed in more relaxed, weather appropriate clothing. He eyed the woman beside him with amusement but seemed otherwise a bit detached, like he was floating on his own cloud. If Jim hadn’t been feeling so detached himself, admittedly in a less pleasant way, he might have liked the man.

He turned out to be a translator while the woman introduced herself as the social worker. They had names – Irina and Shemar – but Jim didn’t much care. They were here to send him back to Earth, and knowing their names didn’t change how he felt about that.

He was isolated in a conference room to be interrogated while Amanda and Sarek stayed behind. The questions started with what had happened to him after his mother’s death, but Jim told her that everything was in whatever report Captain Pike and Doctor Boyce had written, so if she wanted the story she could read it from there because he wasn’t going through that shit again. Eventually she started asking questions about how he liked it on Vulcan – ‘You’ve obviously acclimatized quite well,’ she’d said while giving his outfit a once-over – and how he was being treated. She kept talking to the translator and not directly to him, and it was slowly driving him mad.

‘So,’ Irina finally concluded her questions, ‘all in all, you would say you are happy with how you have been treated here on Vulcan?’

Jim merely nodded. She continued talking while looking through the files in her padd, Shemar translating her stream of speech.

‘I have been in contact with your father’s cousin Sarah Williams and she has agreed to act as your guardian if necessary until you turn 18. Now, your mother had next to no property in terms of –‘

Wait, _what?_ Jim had never even heard of this cousin of his father’s, and it didn’t sound like she was especially keen on changing that. To be honest, neither was Jim. He’d expected being pushed into the system, not being dumped on some distant relative’s doorstep.

‘No,’ he signed, and Shemar just talked over Irina’s rant. By now Jim had determined that yes, he _did_ like the man.

‘What?’ she asked, looking mildly pissed that he’d dared interrupt her.

‘I don’t want to go live with this woman I’ve never heard of. I like it here, I have nothing to go back to Earth for. If Amanda and Sarek would have me, I’d rather stay here.’

Irina listened to Shemar and blinked, looking at Jim properly for the first time in a long time.

‘Well…’ she started, making notes on her padd. ‘I will have to talk about that with them, and I will of course have to inspect your living conditions, and even if they agree to foster you Ms Williams may appeal to have custody, and since in cases such as these relatives are favoured over strangers, I can’t promise anything.’

Jim took everything in with the grim understanding that he would probably still end up back on Earth. Sarek and Amanda hadn’t signed up for this, of course they hadn’t. When they took him in they weren’t expecting being asked to take care of a teenage orphan with a shady background for two years. Why would they agree to it?

‘Now, if we can move on,’ Irina ploughed on, flipping through files on her padd. ‘As I was saying, Winona Kirk didn’t have much property to speak of, but she did leave all her money and whatever possessions were left behind to you and your brother. In addition, you are both entitled to compensation from Starfleet since Winona died on active duty. She had also deposited the compensation you received for your father’s death on two savings accounts, one of which was designated for you. In total, when you sum up the tax-free Starfleet gratuity and what Winona left-‘

She droned on about insanely large figures and taxes and legal protocols but Jim’s head had filled with buzzing and he was having a hard time keeping up.

_What the fuck mom? What. The. Fuck._

He scribbled his signature on something without looking at it, and when Irina decided she had talked enough it took Jim a moment to realize they were both standing and looking at him expectantly. He shook the hands he was offered and left the room in a daze, barely registering Amanda’s hand landing on his shoulder and Sarek’s gaze boring into him. Jim swallowed down the bile that threatened to climb up his oesophagus and sat down on the small sofa in the hallway. He watched as Irina and Amanda exchanged a few words, Sarek listening intently, and then the whole bunch disappeared into the conference room. Shemar slipped out into the hallway and sat down next to him, fiddling with his padd. Jim didn’t really pay much attention; he was busy thinking about how many troubles he would’ve been saved if he’d known about the money Winona had left him. Although, if he’d known he probably wouldn’t have ended up on the Enterprise and subsequently on Vulcan. He’d never have met Spock.

_I haven’t said goodbye to Spock._

Jim stood so abruptly he made Shemar flinch. It took him less than a minute to find his way out of the building and out into the street. Pulling his hood up to shield him from the sun Jim started walking so quickly he was almost jogging. He wasn’t sure how to get to Spock’s place from this part of Shi’Kahr, but he knew the general direction.

Several wrong turns later Jim finally reached Spock’s apartment. He buzzed the door, but nothing happened. He buzzed again. And again. But Spock was out, probably at the VSA, and Jim needed a break. He sat down on the cool floor and slumped back against the door. He was hot and thirsty and tired from hurrying through the city, and desperation was seeping into his bones. He didn’t want to go, and it scared him that he’d gotten so attached to this place, these people. Leaving had never been a problem before. Why was it suddenly the end of his world?

_You’re an idiot, Jim._

He must have fallen asleep, because nothing else explained how someone managed to sneak up on him and startle him by running two fingers lightly across his cheek. Before he was even fully awake, Jim instinctively shied away from the touch and tried to press backward, but the solid mass behind his back kept him from escaping. A second later, when his brain caught up, he saw that it was Spock crouching in front of him.

‘Why are you here, Jim?’

They rose to their feet, Spock with one smooth motion and Jim scampering like a deer on ice.

‘Can’t I visit my friend for no reason?’ Jim answered and tried for a grin. It didn’t feel convincing.

Spock quirked his eyebrow and gave him a doubting look but keyed the door open without pressing the issue. Jim followed him into the apartment and hovered awkwardly while Spock put his things away. The Vulcan noticed his behaviour and stilled, a crease appearing between his brows.

‘You seem troubled. Is something wrong?’

‘I’m fine.’

Jim busied himself with examining the picture Spock kept on his shelf. In it a younger Amanda and a small Spock stood next to a large furry creature that looked like a cross between a brown bear and a saber-toothed cat. It looked friendly enough, despite the fangs.

‘What is this animal?’

‘That is I-Chaya, our sehlat,’ Spock answered and came to stand next to him.

‘Where is he now?’

‘He died saving me from a le-matya when I was still a child.’

Jim mentally kicked himself for not guessing the creature was dead; he would probably have seen it by now if it was still around. He was about move away and ask about something else when Spock took hold of his wrist, his touch gentle but firm. His eyes were searching, clearly seeing past Jim’s façade.

‘You are anxious,’ he signed, letting go of Jim’s wrist. ‘What has disturbed you?’

Jim blinked. He had come to say goodbye, but it was so much harder than he’d ever imagined it could be. The fact that that Spock was so close, his gaze so intense, wasn’t helping at all.

‘You know you’re pretty cool, right?’

‘I am aware my body temperature is lower than the average human’s, yes.’

Jim couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘You’re an ass. You know what I mean.’

‘Yes.’ The corner of Spock’s mouth twitched. ‘Although I must point out that I am in no way related to any species in the equine family.’

Jim huffed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. He took a step away from Spock and sat down on the bed, his friend following and sitting down next to him. Jim pretended to be looking at something interesting in the other direction, although there wasn’t much in the room to look at, but Spock laid his hand on his bicep and coaxed Jim into facing him. He knew Vulcans weren’t big on physical contact, so if Spock was willing to touch him, who was he to refuse?

_No, scratch that,_ Jim thought. _I can refuse whoever the fuck I want._

But if he was honest with himself, he was perfectly ok with Spock touching him. So, Jim turned to face him and his stupidly pretty eyes that were doing weird things to his heartbeat. He wasn’t particularly keen on further examining the reasons for why that kept happening.

‘Please tell me what has happened,’ Spock signed.

Jim allowed the air escape his lungs. All day he had built up his walls, brick by brick, and here Spock just waltzed in through the gate that hadn’t been there five minutes ago, making him _feel_ things. It wasn’t fair.

‘I…‘ Jim started, hesitating. He couldn’t just wave his hand and call it done, no matter how many times he’d done that before. Before it had been easy because there had been nothing for him to stay for. But this, right here, was where he wanted to be. ‘I had to meet with a child services lady today. I’m pretty sure they’re sending me back to Earth.’

Spock frowned, looking unhappy.

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘Well, no, not exactly in those words, but that’s what I gathered.’

‘I can see you do not wish to go. Did you tell her this?’ Spock asked, still frowning but eyes warmer than a moment ago.

‘Yes, but I mean, it’s not like I can just ask for your parents to keep me because that’s not what they signed up for, and where else would I stay? And apparently my dad had some cousin who can appeal to get me if she wants and-‘

His hands were pulled down between them in the middle of his explanation. Spock folded his hands over Jim’s, running the tips of his fingers over his knuckles and smoothing his thumbs over the backs of his hands. ‘Jim,’ his lips formed. Spock’s eyes were warm and gentle when he finally let go of Jim’s hands.

‘I am sure everything will be fine. If you do not wish to leave Vulcan, we will make sure they do not force you to. My father is by no means a sentimental man, but he does like you. Do not worry so.’

Jim swallowed. His eyes were burning so he hid his face by leaning on Spock’s shoulder. The Vulcan’s stiff posture relaxed gradually, and they spent long moments like that, leaning on each other in an almost-hug. Finally, when Jim was sure the wells that were his eyes were not going to spill over he straightened and roughly ran a hand over his face, almost angrily wiping away the weepiness.

‘She never supported me, you know.’

Spock’s eyebrow flew up his forehead. He seemed genuinely baffled by the abrupt change of topic, but didn’t interrupt.

‘Winona, I mean. She never really supported me. If it weren’t for my grandmother, I would’ve grown up as mainstream as they come, no Deaf influence in my life whatsoever. Like, I’m not angry that she got me the implant, I’m not angry that she wanted to make my life easier because being able to hear really did help me. I’m not mad for being taught English first and ASL second. But the fact is, all these things she did for me were at least as much, if not more, for her as they were for me. She never understood that I had _emotional_ needs as well. I didn’t have bilateral implants and that meant my hearing was never perfect, even before the… before the beatings. I didn’t feel like I belonged, I got made fun of, I didn’t know what my place in the world was. The things my grandmother taught me gave me some sense of belonging, but I never had that community of people like me around, and Winona never tried to understand that feeling. And now she’s left me a shit-ton of money like it can posthumously buy her forgiveness.’

There was a pause during which Spock seemed to digest Jim’s rant while he himself tried to make his breathing settle back to normal. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever told Spock about Frank, about how he had treated Jim, but he was too worked up to get stuck on the details. He was angry, and although he had never talked about this with anyone, it all just spilled out, like a festering wound finally drained.

‘She never supported me, and while yes, I am going to hear again, and I am going to make the most of my life even if that means conforming to society in some things, I’m not doing it because she raised me that way. Fuck, she wasn’t around enough to raise me _any_ way. I know who I am now, I have an identity and I don’t feel pressured to change like I did then. I can make that choice myself, and I’m now confident enough to know that choosing to hear again doesn’t make me a better or a worse person. As long as I’m happy with my choice, it doesn’t matter what other people think.’

Somewhere along Spock had laid his hand on Jim’s knee, and it was exactly the kind of grounding presence he desperately needed.

‘She never supported me when I needed it and now… Now that I don’t need it anymore she comes and tries to push herself back into my life and I don’t want it. She has no right, I don’t care if it was her dying wish to do something nice for me, and for Sam, but I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t need her. I don’t need her money. Her ghost can fuck off.’

Spock looked almost bewildered by Jim’s outburst, as far as Vulcans _could_ look bewildered. But he didn’t draw away or look disgusted by Jim’s emotionalism.

‘You are angry,’ Spock finally begun when it was clear Jim had run out of things to say. ‘Although I know very little of what you have been through, I believe you have every right to be angry. I am glad you feel like you can confide in me, but I must admit I have very little experience in how to be of emotional comfort.’

Spock looked like he was feeling his way through a dark room without a light, and it brought a smile to Jim’s lips. How had he earned the friendship of this genius who was so guarded and put-together and yet so willing to put up with his shit?

‘You’re amazing just as you are. Thank you.’

Jim could almost have sworn he saw a tint of green creep up to the tips of Spock’s ears, but he was more concerned with the heat flushing his own face so he hid his face in the Vulcan’s shoulder again, this time wrapping his arms around the thin frame as well. Spock was stiff and awkward and didn’t seem to know what to do, although Jim was sure there was no way Amanda had never hugged his son. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity by the standards of how quickly a hug can turn awkward, Spock relaxed a bit and Jim felt a tentative hand touch his back. In all of its weirdness it was hands down the best hug of his entire life.

Jim could have melted right there, into Spock’s arms, but after a moment the Vulcan started pulling away. Jim straightened and tried to pretend he still had some dignity left while Spock stood and tugged his sleeve, signalling for Jim to follow. Puzzled, he followed Spock to the entrance of the apartment. His face heated up again the instant the door opened to reveal a very worried-looking Amanda and a stony-faced Sarek. Jim glanced at Spock, who gave the tiniest shrug imaginable to signal that he hadn’t called them. There was no time for further communication since Jim got busy being engulfed in a very human hug. After crushing the air out of him, Amanda held him at an arm’s distance and examined him, brushing away imaginary dust before letting go of him.

‘You listen to me, young man, you can’t keep disappearing like this. We were so worried, we looked for you everywhere! You could have gotten a heat stroke, running off like that without so much as a water bottle.’

By now Jim’s face was radiating heat like a small star.

‘I’m sorry,’ he signed without looking anyone in the eye. ‘I understand if you want to send me away. I totally get it.’

Amanda’s small hands cupped his cheeks and lifted his face. Jim tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and meet her eyes. She was speaking with Sarek, who had come to stand next to his wife. When she finally let go of Jim, Amanda surprised him by starting to translate for Sarek. She wasn’t as fast as a professional translator, but that only gave Jim an opportunity to take a look at Sarek’s serious face when he spoke, as well.

‘Jim, we are not sending you anywhere. I do not know who deemed that woman qualified to handle matters such as these, but do not let whatever she told you give you false impressions about your future. The social worker told us you would rather stay here than go live with your relatives. While that is not how the child services would prefer, we will do everything in our power to make that happen. And, as the likely next Vulcan ambassador to Earth, I do have some sway with people. It would please us all if you were to stay here with us.’

Jims eyes were burning again and really, when had he become this unable to reign in his feelings? He managed a nod and had to furiously blink away the tears that filled his eyes. After another hug and some more scolding, he was being ushered out from the apartment. To his surprise, Spock followed them out and stayed by his side all the way outside, eventually climbing in to sit on the backseat of the air car with him.

Halfway through the ride out of the city Jim felt long fingers take hold of his hand, slipping between his own fingers and curling around to hold their hands together. Jim blushed when he felt Spock’s forefinger trace his own. For such a small touch, for such a simple caress, Spock’s fingers moving over his own felt like a huge gesture. And yet, done like this, behind the others’ backs, the moment felt stolen, breathless. Spock’s eyes were warm and dark and full of something Jim unconsciously hoped he didn’t have to share with anyone else. It felt like a secret, it made his heart race and his nerves prickle with electricity. It felt intimate. Forbidden.

 


	20. Day 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: violence_

 

**Day 47**

There was no reason to get up anymore. Jim was never going to meet his goal, he was never going to make it off of this planet. The days started to blur together as Jim laid on his cot in a sleepy haze, the only indicator of time passing being the hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake so he would give the bed up to the other guy.

He pulled on another layer of clothes, grabbed his backpack and made it to the common room. The sandwiches had already been given out, and the lights had been dimmed. A few late comers were still making their way to the dormitories, if they could be called that, but otherwise there was no one around. Jim sat down at one of the tables. He was cold and he knew that he should be hungry, but the thought of food wasn’t enough to make him stand up again. Instead, he leaned his face in his hands and allowed his thoughts to sink back into the blissful fog. It was either that or having his brain run through everything that had happened in vivid detail, every wrong choice he’d made. Every time he had failed.

After a while Jim felt someone sit down next to him. When he lifted his head he saw that it was the andorian who had helped him get in. She had a sandwich and a padd, and there was that infuriatingly kind, understanding expression on her face. The thought of eating made Jim feel sick, but when offered he took the bread anyway. He peeled off the protective wrap and forced down the sandwich, one small bite at a time, while the andorian watched. It was unnerving to be watched, but Jim didn’t want to be rude to her and tell her to go away. He’d never even asked her name.

She wrote something on the padd and showed it to Jim.

_You can’t stay here all night,_ it read. _You can’t give up now. I’ve seen it happen with so many people here. But you’re so young still, you have a whole life of possibilities ahead of you. Don’t give up._

But it was easier said than done, wasn’t it? Jim watched her as she packed the padd into her bag and stood. She gave him a smile, he supposed was meant to be an encouraging one, and gave him a pat on the back as she passed on her way to the door. After she’d gone, Jim choked down the rest of his meal. Maybe he’d try to find work on the other side of town tonight. He might at least find a new street corner to sit on.

Jim made it three blocks from the shelter when someone came up behind him and pulled him into a dark alley. Hands pushed him against a wall and he lost his balance, nails scratching against the bricks when he fell down. Pieces of gravel dug into his palm as he tried to get up, turning to see his attacker. He was met by angry grey-blue eyes and although it was dark, he would recognise Gary anywhere. But he wasn’t alone. Three of his friends were blocking the way back to the street, big guys that were probably cadets too.

Jim tried to get up, balancing himself against the wall, but they were on him before he could even straighten his legs. A fist collided with his cheekbone and his head hit the wall. He tried to block his face with his arms, but got a knee in his stomach for it. Jim doubled over, all air rushing out. A kick in his knee and his legs gave out. His knees hit the ground with a scratch, and he was still holding his stomach. A second kick to his ribs sent him to the ground, and within a minute he had been overpowered, kicks landing everywhere on his body. Jim curled up into a ball, trying to shield his head from the battering.

And suddenly it was over. Whether he passed out or they had just left, Jim did not know. All he knew was that it hurt. Every move, every breath, every beat of his heart made his body ache.

There was a touch on his shoulder that made him flinch away, reflexively trying to protect himself from more kicks. The movement sent a sharp stab of pain through his side and he drew a sharp breath. The sudden intake of air, in turn, had him breathe blood from his mouth into his lungs and sent him into a hacking cough. It felt like drowning and burning at the same time, and like a knife had been sunk into every muscle on his body. When he was able to breathe again he opened his eyes as best he could from the throbbing swelling in his face. A shaggy figure with a mop of long, matted hair was crouched next to him. Jim tried to lever himself off the ground. Rough hands helped him, stabilizing him and pulling him up. Jim had never been in so much pain, and the change of position sent a wave of nausea rolling through him. Grabbing at the wall for support, he emptied his stomach on the street, blood and bile and bits of sandwich mixed together. He was shaking, barely holding himself up, and the rough hands came back to support him. His backpack was nowhere to be seen. Jim’s mouth hurt, the acid stinging where he had bit his tongue, and he could feel wet, hot tears roll down his cheeks.

The shaggy figure gently lifted one of Jim’s arms over their shoulders and curled one arm around his waist to support him. Jim bit his lip from the pain. He wanted to scream, to tell them to get away from him, but his helper started to slowly walk him back toward the street and it was all he could do to stay conscious. Only a few fleeting thoughts passed his mind as they slowly made their way forward, where to, Jim had no idea. His money was gone. All the money he had saved up was gone, and Gary had clearly known where to find him.

Come morning, Jim didn’t go back to the shelter.

 

 


	21. Day 108

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did all these kudos come from? Seriously, thank you so much. Also, I really do love your comments, sorry I'm so bad at replying to them. And sorry for being MIA.  
> We're nearing the end, and I have the rest of the chapters thought out, although I can't promise you a posting schedule. The pace of this fic changed somewhere in the middle from what I first thought it was going to be, but I don't think there are going to be any changes in that anymore, so I've decided to add the final number of chapters up there.

 

**Day 108**

It was dark when Jim stepped out of his room and in through the last door on the corridor. He slipped into the bed, where Spock – already used to Jim sneaking in in the middle of the night – instantly made room for him. Honestly, he had no idea what this was they were doing. Whenever Spock stayed the night at the house Jim would, sooner or later, come and sleep in his room. There was nothing sexual about it, although he constantly got butterflies in his stomach when they were alone, and Spock never touched him inappropriately. Now, Jim wouldn’t necessarily have minded if he did – which took some time for him to admit to himself – but Spock clearly didn’t think of him that way and that was absolutely ok with him. He’d never really had a true friend before, and if that was all they were ever going to be, he was still happy. So, Jim did his best to not act awkward and tried to accept that he had an actual relationship with another person where he wasn’t expected to give the other anything as payment for that friendship, and when he had nightmares that left him cold and sweaty he went to Spock. Spock, who never asked questions but always made room for him and calmed him and watched out for him. And even though the bed was a bit narrow for two people they fit together just fine and Jim always slept better when he felt the other presence next to him.

This time though, when he settled down next to Spock it wasn’t after a nightmare. He’d been awake, sure, but his inability to sleep was more because of excitement than fear and he just really really _really_ wanted to talk to his friend.

‘Hello,’ Jim greeted the Vulcan, who merely lifted his eyebrow in return. ‘Long time no see.’

‘It has been two hours and twenty-three minutes since we last saw each other,’ Spock answered, eyebrow twitching.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes.’

Jim couldn’t help but smile at the way Spock’s eyes sparkled even in the dim room.

‘Did you hear?’ he asked, nearly shivering with the need to get the news out.

 ‘To what are you referring?’

‘I don’t have to go back to Earth. I get to stay.’

Jim was sure his wide grin looked absolutely ridiculous, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The corners of Spock’s eyes crinkled a tiny bit when he replied.

‘I did hear, yes. It is good news. Although you must realize that my father’s position in the embassy will most likely quite soon require him to return to Earth. Amanda and you would naturally go with him.’

‘I know,’ Jim signed, and some of his enthusiasm bled out, but he was still very happy. They lied, side by side, for a moment before Jim’s curiosity made itself known. ‘Have you ever been to Earth?’

‘I have.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘It was quite different from Vulcan. However, I have no preference for one over the other.’

Jim rolled his eyes at the non-answer. How very Vulcan.

‘I guess you have some family over there somewhere. Ever think about moving to Earth?’

‘Some of my mother’s relatives live in Canada.’ Spock paused, but didn’t elaborate on whether he’d ever even met them. Jim made a mental note to ask about it later. ‘When I applied to the Vulcan Science Academy, I also considered sending an application to Starfleet Academy.’

‘What stopped you?’ Jim asked. He imagined the rules of an institution like Starfleet wouldn’t really have bothered someone like Spock. In fact, Jim thought the life might have suited Spock pretty nicely.

‘Although clans have lost much of their importance in modern society, my father’s clan is still considered quite prominent. As Sarek’s son there are certain things I am expected to do, such as seek out suitable education.’

‘And Starfleet Academy isn’t suitable?’

‘That was my father’s opinion.’

Spock’s expression remained impassive, but Jim got the feeling there was some lingering disagreement there about what Spock should and shouldn’t do. He frowned, remembering all too well all the arguments he’d had with Frank about ‘proper behaviour’. Like an abusive alcoholic had any right to preach about that.

‘Would you rather have chosen the fleet over VSA?’ Jim asked, intentionally pushing aside the bad memories. Spock’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t say anything. There was a long pause and finally Jim decided to continue. ‘I’m thinking about joining Starfleet. I mean, I hated them for a while for taking everyone away, but I kinda want to explore, too. And I tried getting on commercial ships before coming here and let me tell you, they’re not really that easy to get on. Like, you actually have to have some kind of credentials, unless you want to work on the shadiest ship there is. I mean, I would’ve done that, too, but I don’t want to anymore. I want to explore, not haul crates.’

‘I find I can identify with your desire for observing previously unknown locations,’ Spock signed, and the spark was back in his eyes. Jim grinned and they spent a moment just looking at each other, Jim smiling and Spock’s eyes glimmering with that not-smile of his.

‘I like it when you smile,’ Jim eventually signed, feeling like nothing could ruin the night. But Spock’s expression seemed to close up and become the blank mask he mostly wore during the day when there were other people around. Jim’s stomach dropped.

‘Vulcans do not smile’

‘Well, no…’ Jim hesitated, wondering why this was such a big deal. ‘But I think your eyes do. I like it when your eyes smile.’

Spock looked at him for a long moment and Jim couldn’t read anything from his expression. Eventually the Vulcan turned to lie on his back. Jim sat up, frustrated, and waited for his friend’s eyes to find him before he started signing again.

‘I said something wrong, didn’t I?’

Spock sat up as well, blank mask slipping. Jim thought he caught a glimpse of regret, but when Spock sat still facing him he was all stiff and properly Vulcan again.

‘You merely stated what you saw in me. It has been enlightening.’

For some reason it felt like Jim was insulted, but he did his best not to show the pang of hurt. ‘Enlightening? Why?’

Spock hesitated, and Jim started to think he wasn’t going to answer, but eventually he started signing.

‘I suspect it is due to my human blood, but I have struggled with emotional control in the past. It seems my control is not yet as good as I thought it had become.’

‘Because your eyes smile when you’re happy?’

‘Happiness is an emotion.’

‘Yes?’ Sometimes Jim wished people, human and Vulcan alike, would just say what was on their minds instead of dancing around it. Sometimes being all the frickin’ time.

‘Vulcans do not feel.’

‘Bullshit.’

Spock quirked his eyebrow, but Jim knew it wasn’t because he didn’t know the sign; Jim remembered specifically spelling it out for him the last time he used it.

‘I mean, your dad clearly loves your mom. Isn’t that feeling? He looks at her like she hung the moon, which you don’t apparently have on this planet and that’s kinda strange but anyway, you know what I mean.’ Jim had to take a second to get his wandering thoughts back on track, a second during which Spock’s eyebrow climbed dangerously close to his bangs. ‘And I don’t think you even believe it yourself when you say you don’t feel. I thought Vulcans didn’t lie, but I guess I was wrong.’

Honestly, he wasn’t even truly mad, just sort of pissed about all this emotional constipation. Still, he threw his legs down onto the floor and started to leave when he felt cool fingers grace against his wrist. He turned to see Spock looking at him intently, a tiny furrow between his brows.

‘Please do not go,’ he signed.

That was all it took. Jim blew out a breath and sat back down on the bed, preparing himself mentally to deal with his sometimes surprisingly un-Vulcan friend being very Vulcan.

‘I… may not possess the vocabulary to accurately describe what controlling one’s emotions means to Vulcans. Just as I am not skilled at describing different emotions I may or may not feel,’ Spock started but stopped, seeming at a loss for words.

‘Okay,’ Jim replied, trying to extrapolate a bit to make the conversation move forward. ‘May or may not feel? So you kinda feel things but you, what, catalogue them and put them away in a box?’

The furrow between Spock’s brows deepened as he seemed to think for a moment.

‘I find that is a surprisingly accurate statement, at least when it comes to me. Although it may be that due to my human blood I experience more emotions than a full Vulcan, and so they might control themselves differently. I have found that it is not possible for me to simply stop feeling at all, but that I can recognize different attitudes and emotions, examine the reasons for their existence, and then let them go.’ He pauses for a moment, but Jim doesn’t interrupt. ‘Although, as I said, my control has not always been sufficient.’

Jim understood what Spock was telling him, but it only made him more confused.

‘Why do you need to do that? If you feel things, then who cares if you let it show?’

Spock takes a long time to answer, but eventually he does. ‘I recall you were examining a book containing the teachings of Surak. Have you read it through?’

‘No,’ Jim remembered the book waiting for him next to his bed and grimaced. ‘I’m getting the hang of the letters and the grammar, but it’s slow going. I’m only a few pages in.’

Spock nodded and took another moment to seemingly gather his thoughts.

‘In the times before Surak, Vulcans were a violent and passionate people. The intensity of our emotions nearly drove us to extinction through warring among ourselves. With the use of logic and meditation to control our emotions, we have reached peace and order in our society. To deny logic is to deny the very foundation of what it is to be Vulcan today, to dismiss the sacrifices our ancestors made to ensure that our people had a future. To preserve and protect our society, those who refuse to follow the Vulcan way are cast out.’

Spock stopped and let his hands fall down on his lap. His eyes shifted away from Jim, who felt a realization slowly creep on him. He touched Spock’s arm to get his attention.

‘You know someone who was cast out, don’t you?’

Spock nodded. ‘My half-brother. Sybok was my elder by six years and I looked up to him.’

There was a pause, and Spock seemed reluctant to continue. Jim didn’t know what to say, so he simply waited.

‘I was seven when he was cast out. I have not heard of him since.’

Jim couldn’t read Spock’s expression and he had no idea how Spock felt about what had happened to his brother. He wondered how such a young boy could possibly have survived alone. The thought sent a shiver up his spine, his own experiences fuelling his imagination. He tried not to let his mind wander too far.

‘That must have been hard for you. I mean, it was hard for me when Sam left.’

‘It was a trying time in my development, yes,’ Spock replied. ‘After Sybok was sent away, I attempted to prove myself, my worth, by undertaking the _kahs-wan_ prematurely. It is a trial of maturity all Vulcan young go through. I, however, was not ready, and my foolishness cost the life of our _sehlat_ , I-Chaya. I can safely say my emotional control has never been as fragile as during that time.’

Spock was staring off into the distance, seeming lost in his thoughts. As difficult as Jim sometimes thought it was to understand Vulcans and their culture, he now had a much better grasp on why it was so important to Spock to be in control of his emotions. And in a way, Jim felt he could relate; feelings could be very overwhelming. And maybe if he was in control, he wouldn’t have so many problems now, not to mention the crap he’d been going through not long ago.

Jim touched Spock’s wrist to get his attention.

‘You know, I still think you’re pretty cool, even if you sometimes lose your cool.’

And so the moment was gone, Spock was giving him the eyebrow of doom and Jim had to slap his hands on his mouth to stop from laughing. Perhaps this was his way of controlling his emotions; pushing away the bad and replacing it with something else. Even if it maybe wasn’t all that healthy to dismiss the bad feelings when they came, even if his method of relaxing the situation was crude, and even if it meant Spock was currently eyeing him like he wanted to kill Jim, he was just happy he had this person in his life. This smart and caring person who never seemed to judge him, even when his jokes were really, _really_ awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was just an overgrown dialogue, but I felt like we needed to explore Spock's character a bit before moving on. I hope I managed to do that here.


	22. Day 122

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added one more number to the chaptercount, for the epilogue.  
> Also, I didn't realize the day and the chapter number match until posting. Oh well.

 

**Day 122**

Jim had asked Spock to come with him to his appointment for getting the new implants activated, but he couldn’t make it because of some lab course he had at the VSA. Jim was still a bit awkward around Amanda, and although she drove him to the hospital and promised to pick him up as well, he didn’t ask her to come. The carefully concealed hopefulness in her expression stabbed his heart with a dagger of guilt, but he still told her he wanted to do it alone. Instead, and Jim had a hard time figuring out why he did it, he asked McCoy – or _Bones_ , as Jim had started thinking of him – to be there. The young doctorling gave him a suspicious look, but still asked healer Staal and the audiologist if he could sit in on Jim’s appointment. Since Jim had already consented to it, the matter was solved quickly and he soon found himself sitting in a room with the audiologist and Bones, ready to get his hearing back.

He'd done it all – he’d had discussions with healer Staal about how the process would go and what he might expect and how his hearing would change over time after the initial activation, he’d had the surgery and he’d waited for the follow-up and he’d read all the information they gave him – but nothing could truly have prepared him for what it was like to have the first implant turned on. The sounds were familiar – the beeps and shuffles and coughs and the audiologist’s speech – but there were just so much _more_ of them. There were high-pitched sounds he’d never heard before, and when McCoy spoke there was a low rumble to his voice was that Jim was sure he wouldn’t have been able to make any sense of before, with his old implant. At first he had to concentrate quite hard to make sense of words, but the more he listened the easier it was, like learning to ice skate again after years of not doing it. It wasn’t quite like riding a bike, he knew it would take time for it to become natural again, but it definitely was familiar.

The biggest shock, though, was the sheer pleasure of hearing. He hadn’t even realized how his brain had been craving for that feedback, and Jim was incapable of making himself stop grinning through the process of mapping his hearing and setting the volume level. All he could do was nod and shake his head, not able to put anything into words. And if his eyes burned and his vision went a bit blurry with unshed tears, neither the doctor nor Bones said anything about it.

Having the other implant turned on was somewhat of an emotional rollercoaster. As a process, it was much the same as before, but his range of hearing was much smaller on that ear. The sounds seemed to jumble together and he couldn’t understand speech at all without his better ear, and although he’d been told that this was most likely how it would be, Jim was still a bit disappointed. He understood that there would be changes, that he needed to be patient, but he couldn’t deny that he’d still hoped for more.

When he finally stepped out of the room and into the sunlit corridor, he was surprised at how quiet is was. The door hissed shut behind him and a strong hand settled lightly on his shoulder. Jim turned to look at Bones, who was studying him with his hazel eyes.

“You alright?” he asked, and Jim wondered about his accent. He had to look at the guy’s lips when he spoke to make sense of the words, but there was a wideness in his rumbling voice that Jim thought might be a southern accent. It sounded different from what he was used to, but it suited McCoy.

Jim nodded, and Bones’ perpetual frown softened a bit.

“You know, we’ve got to talk about what happened at some point.” Jim swallowed and opened his mouth but his – his friend? – continued before he could even think about anything to say. “I’m not asking you to talk about it right now, but… You know what, let me give you my comm number and you can send me a message when you’re ready to talk, alright?”

Jim tried to say something, he really tried, but the breath seemed stuck in his throat and his heart beat faster when he tried to force the words out, so in the end he just snapped his mouth shut and nodded. For once he had his padd with him, so he let Bones add his contact information on it. Afterwards they stood there facing each other in a silence that grew more awkward with each passing second. There was so much Jim wanted to say, but every time he opened his mouth he felt like he was choking on the words. Finally, he threw his arms around the intern’s shoulders and gave him a quick but fierce hug, hoping it spoke for itself.

“Whoa there, okay,” McCoy grumbled and pat Jim awkwardly on the back before they parted. Bones walked him over to the lift and mumbled something Jim took as a goodbye even though he couldn’t make out the words. As the doors slid shut Jim strained his hearing and listened to the quiet hiss of the doors and the whirr of the lift starting to move, and the small smile he had given Bones as he left now slipped from his face.

_Why can’t I talk?_

When the lift came to a stop and the doors opened to the ground floor, Jim immediately caught sight of Amanda, dressed in her floor-length Vulcan dress and hood, sitting in a waiting area. He hurried toward her, panic starting to clench at his throat. When she caught sight of him, Amanda stood and smiled warmly, but she grew serious when she saw the look on his face.

“Jim?” she asked out loud, her voice soft and warm despite the worrying undertone. She continued, signing along her speech; “Can you hear?”

Jim stopped in front of her and nodded. ‘I can hear,’ he signed frantically, ‘but I can’t talk!’

Amanda gave him a calming smile that got Jim’s heart to slow it’s beating a little. She reached out and grabbed his hands, stopping him from unknowingly twisting his fingers together.

“Calm down, Jim, it will be fine,” she said and gave his hands a squeeze. “You’re overwhelmed by everything that’s happening, you need to give yourself time. It will all come back eventually, just don’t be so your hard on yourself.”

Jim took a shuddering breath and gave a shaky nod.

“Now,” Amanda smiled and steered him toward the exit, “let’s go home so you can tell me all about how it went.”

 

 

Jim sat outside in the garden, behind his rock, and listened to the sounds of the desert. The wind hissed as it blew sand across the rock plains. It was scorching hot, the occasional gust of wind providing little relief in the stifling air.

Spock had promised to come visit as soon as he could. It should be any minute now.

A bird – or what sounded like one – chirped somewhere. The sound of its song seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Jim turned his neck and strained his hearing, trying to locate the animal, but he couldn’t find it.

“- still a bit shaken up, he doesn’t talk yet.”

Jim glanced back toward the house at the sound of quiet voices and the crunch of steps, coming his way across the garden. He recognized Amanda’s soft voice, but it was the second speaker whose speech had shivers run up Jim’s spine.

“Mother, I am sure he will speak when he is ready. And even if he does not, we have been able to successfully communicate thus far. I see no reason for you to be worried about him. Now, if you would excuse me.”

His voice was smooth and low, deep and even and not gravelly like McCoy’s.  The crunch grew louder as one pair of feet seemed to continue his way, but the lighter steps he figured were Amanda’s became fainter. Jim shifted and turned just in time to see Spock appear on his side of the large rock, looking as neat as always in his robes. He was carrying something under one of his arms.

“Hello, Jim,” Spock said and sat down next to him, ever as graceful as a dancer. “I hear your appointment today was a success.”

Jim managed to nod, preoccupied with watching Spock’s lips as the words flowed out. Spock looked at him and quirked his eyebrow, but didn’t comment on Jim’s staring. Instead, he settled on his lap the object he had been carrying. It was an instrument of some kind, and to Jim it looked like a cross between a harp and an electric guitar. Catching Jim’s questioning look, Spock showed it to him.

“This is a Vulcan lute. I have not played for quite some time, but I thought that perhaps I might play something to celebrate.”

Jim smiled and nodded. Honestly, he had never been big on music. He knew it was the implant’s fault, but melodies had never sounded quite right to him, they always seemed somehow off and sometimes even unpleasant. Now, drums and bass he could understand, those you could feel in your bones, but he was willing to give Vulcan music a shot. Besides, the thoughtfulness of it warmed his insides.

When Spock plucked the first few notes, Jim knew instantly that it was different this time around. The lute did sound a lot like a harp, except… better. It didn’t give him an uncomfortable feeling and the sound didn’t seem warped or twisted. It was, in all honesty, beautiful.

The sad melody filled his head and watching Spock’s long fingers dance across the strings in the sweet-smelling air of the afternoon was somehow very hypnotic. Jim leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes, allowing the sound to wash over him. The song seemed to go on for an eternity before fading out into the last notes.

“Jim?” he heard Spock’s voice while a hand settled on his forearm. He cracked open one of his eyes and tried to grunt as he closed his eyes again, but it came out as a soundless huff of air. The tips of Spock’s fingers grazed across his forehead, but Jim couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

“Jim, you are dehydrated. Come.”

With Spock’s assistance he scrambled up, batting his ands away when he suggested he could carry Jim inside. Leaning heavily on his friend they made their way across the garden and back inside, the melody Spock had been playing still stuck in his head.

 

 

It was very late when Jim slipped out of his room and into the dark hallway. He stopped to listen for a moment, but the house was quiet. He took the familiar eight steps from his door to Spock’s and stepped inside without knocking. The curtains were drawn and it was so dark Jim almost couldn’t see the other side of the room, but he heard the covers rustle when Spock moved.

“Jim.”

It was a quiet whisper, almost too quiet for him to hear. Jim didn’t answer, just crossed the room and laid down next to Spock, who was lying on his side, facing him. His pale skin was only just visible in the dark. Jim lifted his hand and touched Spock’s cheek, his fingers a darker shadow against the near white Vulcan. He swallowed. It felt like his throat was closing up, too tight and for air to pass through, yet somehow it still did. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt too big. Jim took a deep, shaking breath.

“Hi,” he whispered.

It was too dark to see it, but under his fingers he could feel the muscles on Spock’s cheek move. Jim slid the tips of his fingers over his lips and felt them curled up into a small smile. A warm puff of air grazed against his fingers and he drew them away, feeling a heat creep up his own cheeks.

“Hello, Jim,” Spock said, his deep voice low and smooth, but loud enough for Jim to make sense of the words. “Do you wish to talk?”

Jim only shook his head, rustling the sheets as he did so.

“Very well.”

Spock didn’t press him about it, but seemed to hesitate for a second. Then, to Jim’s surprise, Spock reached his arms around him and drew him closer. He moved without protest and snuggled up against him, his face slotting into the crook of Spock’s neck like it was made to be. They shuffled for a moment before each was comfortable, the room eventually becoming silent again. Jim closed his eyes and relaxed, feeling Spock’s breath move the hair on his head every now and then.

“Spock?”

After a few seconds Jim thought that perhaps Spock had fallen asleep, but then there was a whispered reply.

“Yes?”

Jim swallowed again and drew back a little, just enough to not get a mouthful of Spock’s collarbone when he spoke. His heart was hammering and he was sure it was obvious how nervous he was, but he wasn’t backing away. Jim trusted Spock, and it felt like it was time he let it out. He took a deep breath.

“I’d like to tell you my story.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm scared shitless about posting the next chapter, but it'll be up within a week.


	23. Day 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: attempted suicide

 

**Day 59**

Jim had been lying awake for hours, staring up at the rusty corrugated iron that made up the ceiling of their makeshift shelter at the end of the narrow dead-end alley. He was so incredibly tired, but like so many nights before, sleep just wouldn’t come. He felt guilty. Guilty for being so tired all the time, too tired to take care of himself. He felt guilty for taking up space without earning it. He felt guilty for being a burden.

He shivered, unsure if it was from the cold or the hunger. Jim pressed his palm into his aching stomach. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and what little he had eaten had been a struggle to keep down. The hunger and the ache had buried themselves deep into his stomach, a constant reminder of his failures. His stomach wasn’t the only thing hurting; the cold had seeped into his bones and made them hurt, and no matter which way he turned, there always seemed to be a bruise pressing into the ground, making him uncomfortable.

Jim wanted to cry, but his eyes were dry. For the briefest moment he had been in control of his life, had been able to try and make it better, but now he felt like that control was gone. It was so far gone he couldn’t even grasp the concept of it anymore. It was gone, and he needed it back. He needed the hurt to stop.

It needed to stop.

Jim sat up. He needed to brace his palms on the ground to get his feet under him, but eventually he stood up and straightened, trying to keep his balance while he waited for the dizzy haze to clear. When it finally did, he took a step away from the damp brick wall he had been lying next to and looked around. In the corner of their scrap pile shed, sleeping curled up in the rickety synth-rattan chair was April. Her long, pale lashes threw shadows on her freckled cheeks, and sleeping like that she looked younger than her twenty-odd years. Her curly red hair was spread in tangles and swirls on her shoulders, as fiery as ever. April came and went as she pleased, sometimes sleeping with Jim and the others in their corner of the alley, sometimes staying away for days. He was pretty sure she was a prostitute, and that April wasn’t her real name, but he didn’t care. She was always nice to him, and most of the few smiles he’d had while living on the street were because of her.

Jim reached out and tucked a lock of hair that had fallen on her face behind her ear, careful not to disturb her.

He turned and moved toward the so-called door of their shelter. Curled up together on the thicker of the two mattresses in the shed were the people who’d saved him. Wedged against the wall was Jesus, a man with friendly smiles and a bushy beard. Jesus – which wasn’t his real name either – had put him together as best he could that first night Jim spent here with them. He sometimes wished he hadn’t. He didn’t know much about Jesus, but he was gentle and kind, although much too skinny for a middle-aged man. Jim thought that he might be dying; he’d seen Jesus cough up blood a few times, no matter how he tried to hide it.

And then there was M. M, who had hauled him up and brought him here. M, who took care of him but took no bullshit, kicking him up in the morning when he didn’t care enough to get up by himself. M, who walked him around town and showed him the soup kitchens and made sure he did _something_ during the days. M, who sat on the edge of his thin mattress in the evenings and looked at him with sad, motherly eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Jim felt around the pockets of his many layers of threadbare clothes. Finally finding what he was looking for, he pulled out a crumpled and soggy piece of paper. The ink had worn away at the creases and the hand-written text on the back of the paper had turned into a purplish-blue stain, but it was the only possession he had left that held any meaning in it. Jim straightened the paper as best he could and set it down on the dirty mattress next to M’s mitten-clad hand. He took one last look at the face of George Samuel Kirk, smiling up at him from the faded picture, and walked away.

 

 

Jim stood on the overpass, looking at the few lights still shining in the windows of San Francisco’s tall buildings. He looked down and saw the occasional car flow under the pedestrian overpass. He had thought about going to the Golden Gate Bridge, but this was closer. He wondered if it was high enough.

Jim grabbed the cold metal railing and climbed on the other side. He closed his eyes. His toes were over the edge, his feet half on concrete, half on nothing. He could feel a gust of wind blow up at him, mussing his hair. Jim stood with his weight on his heels, leaning back against the railing. He relaxed his grip on it and eventually let go, standing there with his eyes closed, feeling the cold metal press to the small of his back. He stayed like that for what felt like a small eternity, feeling the wind blow around him, feeling the emptiness under his toes. Feeling an unfamiliar freedom.

He started shifting his weight from his heels to his toes.

An arm wrapped around his chest and a hand gripped the back of his coat. Jim was yanked back, first against the cold metal railing and then right over it. He fell back against someone and lost his balance, unable to get his feet under him, breaking the fall with his hands and ending up lying dazed on his back, his brain still trying to catch up to what had happened. He pushed himself up on one elbow, balancing with the other hand, feeling road rash burn his palms. He stared at the young, brown-haired man scrambling up next to him. His hair was mussed up, his jaw was covered in dark stubble and his hazel eyes were burning with angry panic. His mouth was running as he stared at Jim, reaching for a bag he had evidently dropped somewhere in the middle of pulling him back. Its contents were spilled on the street, mostly padds and books and folders. Closest to Jim was a massive old-school book with paper covers depicting a pair of very detailed skeletons.

Jim sat up and watched the guy collect his belongings, expecting him to be on his way when he was done. He felt numb, not knowing what he was supposed to do now. Would he just… try again?

Jim looked down at his hands and saw the raw spots on his palms were his skin had peeled away and tiny pieces of gravel had stuck to the scrapes. His eyes burned, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. Why was it so hard? Why did it have to hurt so much?

Someone kneeled in front of him, and Jim looked up to see the same young man watching him. Jim stared at him through the blur of his tears. He hadn’t realized he had clenched his hands into fists until the man grabbed his hands with a strong but surprisingly gentle grip and pried them open. He looked at Jim’s palms and then let go for a moment to take out a medpack from his shoulder bag. Frozen where he sat, Jim waited as the man cleaned the road rash on his palms and bandaged them. He was talking through it all, often glancing at Jim with his eyes that somehow managed to convey both concern and irritation at the same time. Jim didn’t even try to communicate. He just sat and stared and tried to breathe, tears drying on his filthy cheeks. He watched the man pick up a medical tricorder that looked a lot like what Doctor Patil had used to check him back in Iowa. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in a way, perhaps it had been.

Whatever the guy saw made his brows furrow and his lips press into a thin line, but Jim didn’t think much of it. He was sure he was in rough shape. It wasn’t until he saw the man take out a communicator that his brain shifted back into gear.

He needed to get away. He couldn’t go to the hospital, they would lock him up or send him somewhere and he would be labelled crazy and he would never make it out and he needed to go, he needed to get away now now _now_ -

Jim’s breathing was coming in short, hard pants as he scrambled away, trying to get up, his heart pounding with panic. The man tried to grab him by his shoulders, his mouth working again, but Jim wrenched away and bounded up, almost falling right back down in his haste to start running. He felt a hand grab the back of his coat, but he just tore the layer off and kept running. He didn’t see where he was going, he didn’t think about where his feet took him. Every step hurt, but he barely felt it. He just needed to get away, get as far away as possible.

 

Four hours later – at what would’ve been very early morning down in San Francisco – found Jim on Starbase 1, dressed in the cleanest, most presentable clothes he had had among his layers, the rest discarded somewhere outside the shuttleport. He had just got off one of the terminals after finding the starship that would be the first to ship out. The panic had cleared away and an empty numbness had taken hold, bringing with it a curious sort of clarity. His muscles were aching and he wasn’t sure how he was still even standing, but he wasn’t about to drop now. Not yet.

Staring out of a viewport he saw the gleaming metal of the starship he was about to board, its name painted on the saucer in big, black letters: USS _Enterprise._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are struggling with your mental health, know that you are not alone. There is no shame in needing help. It may feel like you are alone in this world, but there are people who understand and who can help guide you through the darkness. Stay strong, my friends.


	24. Day 126

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a million reasons I haven't been writing, but I'm determined to finish this fic and so I'm finally back. If there's actually someone out there who has been waiting for almost a year for me to post... Wow. I so do not deserve you. But thank you. Truly.  
> On a second note, I used to have a piece of paper with the calendar of this story figured out on it, but I lost it at one of the many moves I've done this past year, and so I have no idea if day 126 is actually a Monday. However, I do remember day 122 being somewhere in the middle of the week, and with the 11 day week I established for Vulcan in an earlier chapter, I think it's safe to say 126 might very well be a Monday. Or something close to it. Oops.  
> Also, in this AU Sarek's career and the Enterprise's construction timeline don't match canon. Forgive me.

**Day 126**

Jim slowly woke up to a silent dawn, feeling the unmistakable presence of Spock in bed next to him even before he had convinced his eyes to work themselves open. It was the start of the week – Jim still wasn’t quite sure if _Monday_ was an appropriate term for the day – and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his friend had to leave for whatever his day at the VSA entailed. Jim was wondering whether he’d be able to convince Spock into skipping class when he cracked open his eyes. The thought evaporated when he saw the Vulcan was already awake and facing him, apparently having been studying Jim’s sleeping face like a creep. But Jim didn’t mind. It had been happening really way too often lately, but as he saw Spock looking at him, Jim’s thoughts melted away like wax under a flame, and a thousand butterflies seemed to have suddenly made their home in his stomach. And _dear lord,_ this crush he had was starting to get ridiculous, but he couldn’t really seem to shake it. So as things stood, Jim being a stupid teenager with a stupid crush on his best friend, he absolutely didn’t mind Spock staring at his face.

Spock’s eyes twinkled and there was a smile there – even  if his mouth didn’t even twitch – when he saw Jim awake. “I have an early class this morning, but you need not get up yet.”

Jim stretched and groaned as his spine cracked. “Nah, I’ll come have breakfast with you.”

They rolled off the bed – well, Jim rolled and Spock rose up as elegantly as always. Jim stopped by the bathroom and to change his clothes in his own room. By the time he made it to the kitchen Spock was already there, dressed in his robes and setting a bowl of porridge and a pot of tea on the table. Jim grabbed a cup for both of them and took a seat next to the Vulcan. He wasn’t one to get hungry in the morning, but he did like to drink a cup or two of spicy Vulcan tea at the start of his day. Weirdly the tea seemed to be the only spicy food or beverage they actually had on this planet.

It was only a few minutes later that Amanda and Sarek emerged from the other side of the house to join them. Amanda circled around the table to take a seat, ruffling Jim’s hair and gracing her fingers against Spock’s shoulder as she passed.

“Good morning, boys,” she said and smiled as she sat down.

“Good morning mother, father,” Spock replied while Sarek prepared two bowls of porridge.

“Morning,” Jim mumbled. He wasn’t yet very comfortable talking around people – other than Spock – but he’d been slowly trying to get more vocal. With the new hearing implants things sounded different than they had before. Better, but different. Jim didn’t really recognize his own voice and he was self-conscious about his pronunciation. Though he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, it was a slow process to get used to speaking again.

Sarek took his seat next to his wife, who had already poured a cup of tea for each of them. “We have news to share with you two.”

Both Jim and Spock turned to look at the elder Vulcan. Amanda was smiling mysteriously, which told Jim it couldn’t be bad news but didn’t make him feel any less uneasy. He didn’t like surprises.

“Ambassador Selden has decided to step down from his position. At the start of the Terran year, I shall be taking his place as Vulcan ambassador to United Earth.”

“Congratulations, father,” Spock promptly replied.

“Yeah, wow, congrats,” Jim said, dazed.

Sarek nodded his head in acknowledgement while Amanda beamed beside him.

“We’ll of course have to start making preparations,” she said. “It’s only about two Earth months away, after all. Jim, you will obviously be coming with us since you’re underage and our responsibility. I was thinking we could move in time for the holidays, it’s been years since I’ve had a proper Christmas. Yes, I do remember that Vulcans don’t get time off for the human holidays but I’d love it if you could visit us, Spock. I know you have quite the workload while you’re finishing your degree, but maybe you could work ahead a little bit and take some time off. I thought we could bake gingerbread cookies and have a Christmas tree and…”

Jim could tell how exited Amanda was by how she was rambling. Amanda never rambled. He wished he could share her excitement, but his thoughts had already gone past holidays and into more important things. Things like _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._ He would have to go back to Earth. Yes, he’d known this day was coming, but he wasn’t ready for it. They would have to leave Vulcan and go to Earth. To the Vulcan embassy. Which was in San Francisco. Which was the one place he definitely didn’t want to go.

The conversation washed over him in a cacophony of indecipherable sound while he desperately tried to tell his twitching foot to be still. His heart was beating hard, making it feel like his veins were trying to burst out of his skin. Jim concentrated on his breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. He could still remember the cold, damp, stale smell of the alley and the dirty mattress and April’s hair when she’d come ‘round once, fresh out of someone’s shower. Breathe out. And the smell of vomit and blood and sweat and the fog that rolled in from the bay. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Oh, but look at the time! Spock, I’ll drive you on my way to work but we’d better get going before you miss your class.”

Jim dimly registered Amanda and Sarek saying their goodbyes while Spock gathered the dirty dishes. He felt cool fingers press against his back for a moment when Spock left the table. It immediately grounded him, even if only for the single moment of contact between back and fingers. He knew it wasn’t an accident but a way for his Vulcan friend to say he’d noticed Jim was panicking a little, a way to tell him Spock was there for his support. It made him feel ever so slightly better. Spock and Amanda gathered their things, and when the front door shut behind them Jim was left sitting at the table, clutching his cooling cup of tea.

He wasn’t shaken from his racing thoughts until the teacup – now gone cold – was plucked from his hands. Startled, Jim looked up at Sarek. The elder Vulcan was sitting across from him at the table, looking perfectly serene. He poured them both a fresh cup of steaming tea and then just sat there quiet, looking at Jim. Sarek didn’t intimidate him as much as he used to, but they also hadn’t spent much time like this, just the two of them. Sarek was intense, and Jim didn’t know how to act around him without making a fool of himself.

“You are disquieted,” Sarek finally said. It wasn’t a question, and Jim knew he didn’t need confirmation, but he nodded none the less.

“I can only assume you have concerns regarding our move to Earth.”

Jim nodded again.

“You have chosen not to talk about the circumstances that led to you coming to live with us,” Sarek calmly continues, and Jim dropped his gaze to the cup of tea steaming on the table in front of him. “I respect your privacy and do not wish to pressure you in this matter. However, I believe it would be mutually beneficial if you were to confide in me your… fears, so that they may be taken into consideration.”

“Mutually beneficial?” Jim parroted and glanced at Sarek.

“I may learn more about my ward and his wellbeing and you may have your concerns alleviated.”

“Yeah, ok.” Jim croaked. He took a deep breath but couldn’t bring himself to look at the Vulcan. Instead, he toyed with his cup and watched the dark red-brown contents swirl around. “I was in San Francisco before I got on the _Enterprise_. I worked for someone. It… It wasn’t strictly legal. I quit pretty quick, and he didn’t like it.”

Sarek didn’t say anything to fill the pause that ensued. Jim wished he would, but he supposed he hadn’t really yet said anything that warranted a response.

“He and his friends attacked me,” Jim pushed on. Feeling his hands start to shake, he wrapped them around the warm cup of tea. “I guess I’m afraid I’ll run into him. Or that he’ll find me somehow. Or that he’ll tell people what I used to do.”

“And would this person frequent the district where the Vulcan embassy is located?”

“Well, I mean, no,” Jim startled and looked up at Sarek, who seemed calm as ever. “But, he’s, you know. He’s in Starfleet.”

A single sharp eyebrow made it’s way up Sarek’s forehead. “And you wish to enlist?”

Jim flushed. He hadn’t really meant to tell Sarek that, but at least the Vulcan didn’t look angry. Then again, Jim wasn’t sure he would actually be able to tell if Sarek _was_ angry with him, so how he looked wasn’t a guarantee of anything.

“Maybe,” he answered warily.

Sarek nodded, but Jim noticed he didn’t comment on whether he disapproved. “If a member of Starfleet assaulted you, I am certain they would wish to know so disciplinary action could be taken and law enforcement notified. Memories are nowadays accepted as evidence in Terran court if they are properly retrieved by a professional Vulcan mind healer certified to perform such retrievals. Should you wish to press charges against your attacker, I would of course assist you in the proceedings.”

“Oh,” Jim said dumbly, staring at Sarek. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

The instant he said the words he knew there wasn’t really much to think about. If he pressed charges against Gary there would be discussion of motive. It would become public knowledge how they knew each other, what kind of work Jim had been doing at the time. It had been illegal, it would go on his record and that wasn’t an option. If he ran into Gary he would have to deal with it himself.

Sarek stood, indicating he had said his piece and would leave Jim to think on it. He turned away but Jim had to stop him, he _had_ to know.

“Sarek?” Jim said and the Vulcan turned halfway back to him. “Do you… What do you think about Starfleet?”

If he thought Vulcans were physically capable of sighing, Jim could’ve sworn that the exhale he heard would classify as a sigh. Sarek turned to face him fully. After a moment of the two of them staring at each other, the Vulcan drew his chair back out and sat down again.

“You are asking if I disapprove of your wish to join Starfleet. Am I correct to assume that you have spoken about this with Spock?”

Jim swallowed but saw no point in denying what Sarek seemed to know already. He nodded.

“Every organisation has its flaws, and Starfleet is no exception. No, I do not think it is a bad career choice. I simply wished for my son to make the choices that would benefit him the most.” There was a pause, but Jim didn’t dare interrupt. “You must understand that Spock was raised in the Vulcan way. His external characteristics are Vulcan. Biologically, he resembles a Vulcan more than he does a human. My wife, in her wisdom, has always reminded me that despite this he is still half human. However, it was not until you joined our family that I have fully realized what she meant. Seeing you two interact, I have come to understand that my son is, in fact, half human and as such the choices most beneficial to him are the ones that are not only logical, but also bring him happiness.

“I will leave you to your thoughts,” Sarek said, standing up. “If there is anything more you wish to discuss, please do not hesitate to seek me out.”

The Vulcan turned and disappeared down the hall and into his study, leaving Jim gaping at his retreating back.

 

••

 

Jim collapsed on his bed, thinking on his bizarre exchange with Sarek. He felt like this morning alone had brought them closer together than all the weeks before. Jim appreciated how difficult it must be for a grown Vulcan to admit to a teenage human that that he had been wrong about something, and Jim found he trusted Sarek more than he previously had. He certainly appreciated the talk they’d had, but there was one more thing bothering him that he couldn’t tell Sarek about; Spock. Jim didn’t want to leave when Spock would have to stay. Perhaps he was getting unhealthily clingy, but the mere thought of not seeing Spock for months – or worse, _years_ – at a time made him slightly nauseous.

Scrambling off his bed and reaching for his padd, Jim made a quick decision. He needed to talk to someone objective, or at least someone not related to Spock.

_Hey Bones, can I talk to you about something? – Jim_

The reply was almost instantaneous, which surprised him, but then again it was still early so perhaps Bones’ shift hadn’t started yet.

_Sure thing, kid. You want to have lunch together? There’s a place near the hospital, serves decent food for a Vulcan place. They have take-away too. – Leonard (not Bones, dammit)_

_Yeah, ok! I’ll pick up some food and meet you in the garden. – Jim_

He was feeling pretty good and optimistic, so while he had his padd in hand Jim pulled up another contact as well and typed out a quick message.

_Hey Pike,_

_So, hypothetically, if someone was moving back to Earth with their foster parents and for some reason had developed an interest in Starfleet, how old would one need to be to get in the academy?_

_Jim Kirk_

The next time Jim’s padd pinged it was lunchtime and he was sitting on their usual bench in the hospital garden, waiting for Bones. He expected it to be a cancellation, that Leonard was stuck in some operation or some such and couldn’t make it after all. Instead, when he opened the message, it was a reply from Pike already. Apparently it was a day for quick replies.

 

_Jim,_

_Good to hear from you. Everything going well on Vulcan?_

_For humans, the admission age to Starfleet Academy is 16. Most start their studies in September, but it’s also possible to start in January. One should preferably be a high school graduate or have a comparable level of basic education and there are admission tests for applicants, but those can be taken remotely if need be. A psych eval is also required. I’ll attach a file with the details on the application procedures and such._

_I don’t know which track this hypothetical person is interested in, but they should know that the command track doesn’t usually take the very youngest applicants. However, if one were to study for example piloting and navigation, they could supplement command studies later since quite a lot of the most basic courses are the same for everyone. Anyone can, of course, rise up in ranks, so whatever one chooses to specialize in it doesn’t mean they can’t make captain someday, if they were inclined to work towards it._

_It’s also hypothetically possible that a certain captain’s mission is coming to an end and they may have accepted a desk job at the academy while they wait for their new ship to be finished building. So, if one were to get in to the academy sometime next year, they might get said captain as their instructor. Although this information is of course completely unverified and as such can’t be trusted._

_Last time we spoke you were not too keen on the idea of enlisting. What changed?_

_Pike_

 

Jim grinned at Pike’s message and typed up a short reply.

 

_Pike,_

_Wherever did you get the idea that we were talking about me here? Me? Enlist? Preposterous._

_For real though, I may have this annoying itch to explore. Thanks for the info, I’ll think about it._

_Jim_

Bones chose that moment to appear on the bench beside him. Jim was startled by someone suddenly sitting down next to him, but it was really his own fault for not paying attention.

“First things first,” Leonard announced, “Feed me.”

Jim grinned and handed him a box of rice-like grain with some sort of vegetables and a mysterious yellow sauce. It didn’t smell like much, but Jim had asked for the spiciest dish they had since Vulcan food tended to be a bit bland, so he hoped it would taste alright.

“So. What’s up?” Bones asked as they started on their take-away – which, luckily, did taste pretty good. Nothing on Vulcan was really that spicy by Earth standards, but at least the food _had_ flavour.

Barrelling through his anxiety at speaking in a public place, Jim took a deep breath and started babbling. Between mouthfuls of food and Bones’ occasional interruption he told the other human about having to move back to Earth and about being scared of going back to San Francisco, which led into him having to talk about his time being homeless and his association with Gary. Jim talked about how he’d grown close with Spock and how he’d taught the Vulcan to sign and how they’d started sleeping in the same bed and how they had the most interesting conversations and how he felt safe with Spock. How Jim didn’t want to leave because he was maybe a little bit in love with him as well.

“And I know I’m probably just getting really unhealthily dependent on him, so maybe it’s better that I have to go now. He can do so much better than me and it’s not fair for him that I monopolize his time,” Jim finished with a sigh.

“Alright,” Bones said thoughtfully, “so have you told him? Does he know what happened to you?”

“Yeah, I told him. The day I got my implants activated.”

“And? Has he been acting any different?”

Jim frowned as he thought back on the past few days. “No, at least I haven’t noticed.”

“So he obviously doesn’t think about your past the way you seem to,” Bones told him. “You shouldn’t think less of yourself because of what you had to do to survive. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jim wasn’t sure he agreed, but he felt like now wasn’t the time to argue his worth – for better or for worse.

“You should just tell him how you feel,” Bones said. His tone brooked no argument. “What you’ve told me about your sleeping arrangements and all the touching and stuff – don’t look at me like that, you know what I’m talking about! Anyway, Vulcans usually avoid physical contact and by what you’ve told me I think Spock feels the same way about you as you feel about him. And look, if he doesn’t, Vulcans don’t laugh at these sorts of things. He’ll just politely tell you that he isn’t attracted and he’ll apologise for giving you a wrong impression and then life will go on. Besides, this is really the perfect opportunity for you to tell him! If it gets too awkward you’ll soon be able to escape to Earth and don’t have to see him as often, so what’s there to lose?”

“I guess you’re right,” Jim sighed, poking at the dregs of his Vulcan take-away in the bottom of the box.

“Damn straight I am,” Bones grumbled, though his tone lacked any malice.

“I don’t know how I’d stand the distance, though,” Jim continued. “If Spock felt the same, I mean.”

“If it’s meant to be, you two will figure it out,” Leonard stated simply. “And you’re 16. If this isn’t it, you have decades still to find someone else.”

They settled into a thoughtful silence while they finished their food. It was surprisingly comfortable. They were such different people, they had a few years between them and yet Jim didn’t feel belittled when he was with Bones. Even when the man called him _kid_.

“So…” Leonard began just as Jim was about to say something about heading back home. He put down his empty food container and turned to look at Jim. “How are you doing? Mentally, I mean.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Bones, can we… Can we not do this right now?”

“Damn it, Jim,” Bones groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. He let out a heavy sigh, like bracing himself for something, and let his hands fall down on his lap. “Jim, I… That night, when you ran away, I tried to keep up but I lost you and I beat myself up over it every night after, right up until I saw you in healer Staal’s office. I thought you’d died, that you’d for sure found some other way to off yourself, and it was eating me alive.”

Jim’s eyes burned and his throat felt like it was closing up. When Leonard turned to look at him again, Jim saw he wasn’t the only one with wet eyes.

“I want to make sure I don’t have to fear for you anymore, Jim,” he said. “I know I’m probably not your fist choice for a helping hand, heck, what I’ve seen you seem to want to pretend you never need one. But I know where you’ve been when you were on your lowest and I’m still here.”

Jim swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried to keep his breathing slow. His heart was beating a fast tattoo in his chest but the familiar feeling of wanting, _needing_ to escape he was expecting didn’t come. It was awkward and he’d never had a conversation like this with anyone so he didn’t know how he was supposed to act, but it didn’t feel impossible. He could do this.

“You are, though,” Jim finally replied, getting a confused stare in reply. “My first choice for a helping hand, that is. Well, you and Spock. There’s some things I’d rather talk about with him but then there’s others I’d rather talk about with you. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He tried for a smirk and felt it fail pathetically, but Bones’ lips twitch in answer. Jim decided he’d better continue while he still had courage.

“I sometimes get… thoughts,” Jim said and slid his eyes down to inspect his shoes. Bones’ eyes were too intense for him to look at right now. “It’s been, you know, a journey. Most days I feel just fine, sometimes I’m fucking fantastic. But sometimes I just… Sometimes I just don’t get the point.”

The silence of his pause stretched between them, and Jim was glad he was given time to gather his thoughts.

“I know, rationally, that my life now is better than it’s been since… well. Maybe ever? And it’s not like I get these thoughts that often. Mostly I’m good.”

Jim looked up to find Bones’ eyes still trained on him. He met the gaze straight on.

“I’m doing good.”

Leonard seemed to study his face for a moment. Whatever he found must have been enough, because Bones nodded and Jim saw his shoulders relax some.

“Alright. But Jim, if those thoughts ever start getting to you, please come talk to me. Or comm me. Just please, let me try and help.”

Jim studied Bones in turn, this unlikely friend he’d found in the middle of the chaos that was his life. The gruff yet oddly gentle doctor-to-be wasn’t one to beat around the bush or coddle him. He wasn’t a mother hen. More like a mama bear, except not as scary. For all his issues and hesitancy, Jim felt that if there was ever a time to reach out and make the effort to trust someone, this was it.

“Okay.”

Bones nodded and stood, visibly shaking himself back to professional mode.

“Alright, you problem child. I gotta get back to work. Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

Jim chuckled and rose to walk back with his friend. Talking with Bones was easy and his heart felt lighter for it. It wasn’t the same kind of easy like with Spock, though. This was different, but it also felt natural. It felt good.

 


End file.
